Mozzie casually perused the case files spread across the table in Neal's apartment, flipping through the current pages in his hand slowly and with scrutiny. Not that he expected otherwise, but Neal never hesitated to share case information with him. In return, he never thought twice to share his opinion; the feedback would be about the case itself, both from an investigative perspective as well as how he'd go about the crime in question if in that position himself…

Usually his friend's cases with the Bureau were local. They involved going outside of his radius, given its limitation, but not like this. He'd sort of taken that for granted. The Suit seemed to prefer Neal was on a short leash. Given that, Mozzie always figured that if Neal was going to go somewhere, it'd be with him for another more advantageous reason for their next adventure.

But this time, it was the FBI leading Neal away. He supposed it meant Neal was graduating upwards with the FBI…

"You said two to three days?" he asked, looking up from the page, the text of which had become out of focus.

Across the room, Neal was packing. He had a duffle bag on his bed, and was pulling a few shirts from his closet. "That's what Peter said," he replied, a little distractedly. He was dressed casually, as though resigning himself for only packing and sleep for the night. "We have a few places we need to get to."

"And what do you expect to find there?"

Neal walked back from his closet towards his bed. He dropped a shirt on top of the bag. "Depends. At one of the places, they think it's a bunker site for some of their backup records. Another one could be a residence of one of the other suspects." He started to walk back towards the closet. "They expect to get enough evidence at these places to support a couple more arrests and close the case."

"And the guy in custody really just gave all this information up?" Mozzie asked, a bit skeptically. "To the Feds?"

Neal looked across the room and gave his friend a shrug and a smirk. "I guess some people crack under pressure."

"This is more than cracking, Neal. This is a ton of information. He could have given you guys one of these tips and the Feds would have been satisfied and none the wiser until they got a chance to take a look at what was there. The fact you have enough information to involve multiple agents traveling tomorrow… to multiple places each…" Mozzie's tone grew in pitch and suspicion.

"They said he's the most forthcoming a suspect has been," Neal responded. He pushed a couple shirts aside in his closet, reaching for another.

"And that's not raising any red flags?" Mozzie questioned. He glanced down at the paperwork again. "I mean, it's a little unusual. Don't you think?"

"Well, yeah…" Neal responded. He paused, a shirt folded over his arm. "No one we've ever worked with would ever give up that much, even under pressure… At least in one go. But then again, that's our experience. I mean, I've never worked with the authorities before, Moz. Maybe it's not that unusual for some of these guys."

"You wanna know something, Neal?"

Neal turned his head. "Yeah?"

"It is," Mozzie stated firmly. "It is unusual. And I know you know that."

"Maybe it is. But…. Moz, the Bureau is usually somewhat skeptical as a gut reaction…" Neal continued. "Trust me, I know that first hand. If it was questionable, I'm sure Peter would have voiced that."

"Well, remind me never to work with your suspect," Mozzie replied. "That's breaking a serious code to just give up every detail like that. I'm sure he could've gotten a good deal with much less. "

"Tell me about it…" Neal responded wryly. He walked back over to his bed and scrutinized his bag. Then he said, "Toothbrush. I always forget a toothbrush." He started to walk towards his bathroom.

"You want to hear my theories?"

Neal stopped in his tracks and then slowly turned, frowning slightly. "You already have a theory." It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

"Of course. You don't?"

Neal chuckled. "Of course I do. But mine has been a somewhat quickly crafted theory considering I'm coming up to speed in a day. But that's still hours more than you."

"What can I say…" Mozzie responded with a smile.

"Too bad you'd never be interested in being a formal informant," Neal replied lightheartedly, tone playful. "Though I'm sure I can get you a meeting if you were ever so inclined…"

"Very funny. I do my selective informing indirectly. Note the word selective."

"Note the word indirect. You do it through me," Neal said.

"Damn right. You want my theories or not?"

Neal smirked. "I do. Let's talk about your theories."

The next morning, Peter gripped his steering wheel while waiting in his car outside Neal's apartment. While he was a couple minutes early, he couldn't help but feel impatient as he gazed at the opulent building. He still couldn't believe Neal lived here. It was a stark contrast to the address he had originally arranged for him. The condition of the home was also just part of the upgrade; the presence of June was an additional positive force in Neal's routine. Peter was more grateful for that than the upgraded zip code, free designer suits, and high thread-count linen.

Somehow though, even with that extra bonus of a positive influence, Peter's effort to secure a roof over Neal's head and give him a full-time job wasn't enough to avoid stress. On a daily basis it was proving more complicated than that. Neal was complicated. And small things that Peter had taken for granted, like this damn anklet that he'd assumed would actually help him control his CI, were now becoming headaches.

Peter still couldn't wrap his head around what Neal could have possibly done to get his ankle injured and cause all this. And given his quick recovery, Peter couldn't help but second-guess his rash decision to cut the anklet off the other evening. He'd been proving a point to him – to call him and not cover stuff up – but now had a feeling his message had fallen short and the costs were growing.

Peter would much prefer to have his mind fully focused on the current case, but recent updates on the anklet were causing an inconvenient distraction.

As Peter mulled this over, right on time Neal was exiting the building. He was dressed casually per instructions, usual suit traded for jeans and a dark t-shirt, and had a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

Peter's hand went to the button on his car door to automatically lower the window on the passenger side as Neal approached.

"I'm popping the trunk," Peter told him as he got within hearing range.

As Neal nodded and walked to the back of the car to drop his bags into the trunk, Peter simply sighed. After a few seconds, there was the sound of the trunk slamming shut, and a moment later Neal had pulled open the car door and was sliding into the passenger seat.

"Good morning," Neal said cheerily as he pulled his seatbelt across his torso, chin briefly pressed down against his chest as he pushed the buckle into its clasp to secure it.

"Not sure it's a good morning," Peter started slowly. He had coached himself earlier to remain patient, but already could tell that was going to be challenging.

Seatbelt clicking into place, Neal looked up with a frown and dropped his hands into his lap. "What?" he asked. "Why?" His expression was slightly cautious.

Peter shifted in his seat, turning to look at Neal as directly as he could. He wondered if he should be vague at first, to figure out if there was anything else that he should know about, but then decided he didn't have time for that psychology. Psychology that might not even work. So he replied, "Your anklet, Neal."

"What about it?" Neal asked. "It's on." He reached down, pushing against the seatbelt, and hiked up the cuff of his jeans to reveal the boxy device. Then he looked back up, observing the stoniness in Peter's expression that remained. "Why are you looking at me like that?" Neal asked, expression evolving into wariness. "I haven't touched it."

"I'm not talking about that one…" Peter replied.

Neal sighed, pushing the fabric back down before leaning back in his seat. "Okay…" he began. "What is it now, Peter?"

"Now I'm not saying you lied to me when you said no one touched the anklet, Neal," Peter started.

"I didn't lie."

"Let me finish…" Peter warned. As Neal pressed his mouth shut, he continued. "The Marshals came back to me this morning to say they think it's been tampered with."

"Tampered with? In what way?" Neal asked incredulously. His brow furrowed, but he then grew resistant more than defensive. "Peter, I didn't touch it, and you know that. And they didn't have time to do anything to it."

"And that's the issue right there, Neal… Who the hell is 'they'?" Peter persisted.

"It doesn't matter, because they didn't actually touch it," Neal said firmly.

"It does matter, Neal. There should be no 'they'. They should not have ever been able to lay a finger on a federal device, Neal. Who are they?"

"I don't know," Neal admitted, looking just a hint of defeated and uncomfortable. "But I do know they didn't touch it. You've gotta trust me on that."

"Are you sure?" Peter replied, voice growing a bit sterner. "Or is that what Mozzie told you?"

Neal exhaled, a slight huff of exasperation. "Both," he responded. "He'd tell me if they did anything. I asked." He didn't add, with a hindsight feeling of irony, that he had hoped they were able to examine it in the short period of time it was in their possession…

"He'd tell you?" Peter echoed. "You want to tell me again I've got to trust you, when you're riding your whole argument on hypotheticals?"

"He'd tell me," Neal answered resolutely.

Peter scrutinized him, feeling an edge of anger mixed with a hint of anxiety. After all, this was all supposed to be within his control. The anklet was supposed to be simple. "Neal, the fact that you handed your anklet over to a third party is putting me in a difficult situation… You do get that, right?"

"I didn't hand it to anyone," Neal replied, a bit stiffly. "Let's not mix up the facts, Peter. You were with me the whole time."

"Facts? Sure, let's stick with facts, Neal. Did you tell Mozzie we left it behind?"

Neal remained silent but continued to maintain eye contact.

"Did you?" Peter insisted. "Yes or no, Neal."

Neal's eye contact then shifted to the windshield, gazing into the road. "Not like that. I didn't tell him specifically."

"Come on." Peter grew more frustrated. "Don't beat around the bush, Neal. Did you imply it? That there was something there? I know your euphemisms. Clearly he came back."

Shifting in his seat, Neal sighed. "I might have," he admitted, looking back at Peter briefly. "But still, Peter. No one touched it. I guarantee it. You got it back."

"Did you not think we'd need it back, Neal? That it could just disappear? I only got it back because they apparently didn't have enough time to do whatever you wanted them to do. Right, Neal?" Peter asked with exasperation. He then exhaled, trying to balance the message he was trying to get across. "Do you understand the ramifications of them thinking it's been tampered with? And despite your insistence otherwise, if they did do something to it, you know what that means for you?" And me, he thought to himself silently.

"The only one that tampered with it was you, Peter," Neal replied.

"Me?" Peter echoed.

"Yes," Neal responded, with a bit of hardness and defense in his tone. "When you cut it off. And when you left it behind."

"Well, they're doing a full review, which is out of my control," Peter persisted, shaking his head. "I don't want to argue with you, Neal, but that's where we are." This discussion was heading nowhere except to an argument, and he was keen to get to the crux of the point he had intended to make. "If they find any proof of what might have been done to it, Neal, it's not going to look good, and that as well is going to be out of my hands."

Neal shifted again in his seat. "What does that mean?" he asked. "If it doesn't look good?"

Peter paused. He'd been expecting another rebuttal from Neal; an accusation yet again that he had nothing to do with it and that Peter had been the one to touch the device, to alter it, and to let the device out of his possession. But instead there was this basic question with almost a sense of blatant insecurity behind it.

"I don't know," Peter eventually replied. He was angry with Neal, but wasn't quite sure what to do about it. It was a different type of anger. Because what was done was done. After getting the anklet back, he thought that was it. He hadn't planned to punish him for it, simply because he did feel partially responsible having left it behind.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Neal responded. "What did they tell you?"

The 'partially responsible' concept resonated in Peter's mind as Neal spoke, and he realized he was getting too soft. Anyone else would have known that giving the anklet to a third party, indirect or not, was a poor idea. Clearing his head, he gave Neal an unsympathetic look. "They said they'd let me know what they find," he replied irritably. "Can't you ever think, Neal? For someone so smart, you do some really dumb things. You know that?"

Neal's expression in return was somewhat disgruntled. "So what now?"

Peter frowned at him. All these questions. He was supposed to have all the answers, yet he felt equally unsure. He didn't let Neal know that. He spoke indifferently. "Now we wait for their report."

"And what if they—"

"I don't know, Neal," Peter interrupted, not allowing the question to play out. "You think I've been in this situation before?"

Neal silenced at that. He was used to threats and ultimatums and direction from Peter. Not uncertainty. That uncertainty was almost more worrisome than Peter being angry. He'd rather his fate be in Peter's hands.

"Now you're quiet?" Peter said, raising his eyebrows. "What the hell were you even doing that you busted your ankle, Neal?"

Neal shrugged. He swallowed back the concerns he wanted to voice, about Peter's control over his fate versus the Marshals. He started to feel the auto-defense mechanism building within him. He knew undoubtedly the last couple of days of his arrangement with Peter had been a negative contribution. He knew somehow he had to right that, and quickly. He tried to think of a response and said the first thing that came to his mind. "Maybe it was the ice," he said.

"Huh?" Peter frowned.

"The ice," Neal repeated. "The ice impacted some sort of sensor, so maybe that's what makes them think it was tampered with." He ran his finger along the edge of his seatbelt distractedly. "Like water on most electronics, except this time it's temperature…"

"Maybe," Peter agreed, considering the response. It was possible.. He rubbed his hand against the back of his neck as he sighed. "You better hope so." For the both of us, he added silently.

They sat there silently for a moment, the question of the anklet weighing over them both.

Peter eventually broke the silence. He moved his hand towards the radio, turning it back on. He'd turned it off when he initially arrived at Neal's. He then glanced over to the younger man, who looked composed but distracted. "Did you eat?" he asked him.

Neal turned his head to Peter, as though surprised by the question. "Breakfast?"

"No, a six AM dinner," Peter responded sarcastically. He rolled his eyes. "Yes, breakfast. Did you eat yet?"

"No," Neal replied. "Unless you count coffee. I didn't have time. Do you know how early it is? "

"Good," Peter replied. "El's been on a low carb kick the last few weeks and I would kill for a bagel. Quick stop before we hit the road, alright?"

Neal nodded slowly as he watched Peter turn his attention back to the steering wheel. He watched Peter's arm move, hand going towards the gear shift to put the car into drive before he could even voice an answer.

"Sure," Neal said out loud, feeling obligated to answer though he felt the decision to go was set before his agreement. Meanwhile his stomach turned just slightly, food the last thing on his mind. His fingers twitched slightly, as he yearned to text Mozzie and confirm yet again that the man believed no one had been able to touch the anklet. He was sure if Mozzie had been uncertain, he would have said so.

Peter clearly wasn't happy about the anklet; and why would he be? But despite that, he wasn't really acting angry. He was irritated and frustrated, but it wasn't like the other day when Peter had literally reamed him out and then given him the silent treatment. After lecturing him about the downside of what he had done, which he already knew, he was now offering breakfast. It made Neal a little uneasy.

He felt a strong urge to lighten the mood further. To get further and further away from the conversation that they had just had. So he did what he did best as the car rolled down his block, and looked for an alternative topic. "You're paying, right?" he asked his handler.

"Huh?" Peter answered. As predicted, he smirked a bit. "Paying?" He glanced sideways towards his CI.

"You offered breakfast," Neal responded. "Figured that means you'll pay. Etiquette."

"Etiquette…" Peter echoed. He sighed, drumming his hand against his steering wheel briefly, and then said, "How about this… Let's see if you read the case files. I'm going to ask you a few questions, and if you answer them, you've got a free breakfast. Sound fair?"

"Sounds fair," Neal agreed. He smiled to himself, confident he would be able to answer anything Peter asked. He considered whether it was too early to share some theories as well, Mozzie's included, and decided to save that until later.

His ankle briefly throbbed, a brief reminder of the topic he was pushing to the back of his mind.