Peter hadn't realized that his eyes were closed until he found himself being brought back to awareness by a firm grip on his arm, shaking him.

At the contact, he opened his eyes, wincing slightly at the reintroduction of light, albeit darker than earlier.

He took in the sight of Neal directly beside him, then looked down at his hand on his forearm. He frowned; he last recalled that Neal had been leaning against the other window on the other side of the bench seat. It seemed at some point after that Neal had returned to the space directly next to him. Once again the space between the two of them had closed.

"Peter," Neal started. He was frowning. "Listen…"

Something about the way Neal said his name caused the earlier, aggravating conversation about exploring their surroundings to flood back to Peter's mind. Immediately in response, he shook his head, brushing Neal's hand off of him and interjecting before the younger man could finish. "No, Neal. Don't start."

"Start what?" Neal withdrew his hand. He sat back, brow furrowing.

"Whatever new compelling plan you think you have," Peter responded, a bit brusquely. "I'm not getting into it with you. We're waiting."

Neal didn't respond at first, simply pressing his lips together. Then he said, "I wasn't about to offer a compelling plan," tone equally curt. "I heard you before."

"Good." Peter said nothing else. His head ached and felt heavy. He shifted in his seat and felt his eyes start to close again.

"I was actually going to tell you to stay awake," Neal continued, voice purposefully louder.

Peter turned his head and gave him a look. "I am awake, Neal."

"Are you?" Neal challenged. "Your eyes were closed a minute ago."

"Am I not allowed to close my eyes?"

"Last time you did that, I couldn't wake you," Neal replied, tone slightly accusing. "Remember?" He studied Peter's blank expression. "You don't remember, do you."

"I'm awake, Neal…"

"Right now you are," Neal replied cynically.

Peter sighed, a bit impatient. "So you're going to bother me every time I close my eyes now?"

"Peter, I've already got one unconscious passenger here…"

"Unconscious, Neal?" Peter asked. "You're comparing me to him," he gestured his hand towards Ed, "because I shut my eyes?"

Neal narrowed his eyes at the statement, turning his head forward in the direction of the pilot briefly before returning back his attention to Peter. "You have a concussion."

"So we've established," Peter responded, nodding. "And trust me, I feel it. But I'm fine, Neal. Eyes closed or otherwise."

Neal didn't look convinced. "They say you're not supposed to sleep when you have a concussion."

"I'm not sleeping," Peter told him. "I'm resting my eyes." He looked down at his wristwatch. The numbers blurred and he held his wrist at a further distance as though that would change his perception.

"Two and a half hours," Neal told him. "If you were wondering the time."

Peter looked up. "What?"

"It's been two and a half hours," Neal repeated more deliberately and slowly. "Since we landed," he said. "If you call that a landing." He paused. "Two and a half hours since his time of death as well. In case we need to report that..."

Two and a half hours. Peter repeated this in his head. "When did I cut your anklet?" he asked Neal. At least one of them had been paying attention to the time, and he was suddenly thankful for that. He wasn't as much in control as he would have liked. The last couple hours felt like a blur…

"An hour ago," Neal responded. "Give or take." He paused. "The light stopped blinking on it."

"Which light, Neal?"

"On the anklet." Neal leaned forward, grunting as he stretched down towards their feet. He picked up the device from the floor, which he must have also done when Peter wasn't paying attention. As he raised it up, he indicated the light on the bulky part of the anklet, which had gone dark. He tapped his finger against it. "What's that mean?"

"I'm not sure," Peter admitted. "I've never had one triggered and then not recouped for this long…"

"Me neither," Neal replied. He sighed and then dropped the anklet again to the ground. It fell with a thud.

"Maybe you could be more gentle with it," Peter noted critically.

"Oh yeah?" Neal raised his eyebrows. He gave Peter a skeptical look. "I remember you telling me I could take a hammer to it and it wouldn't make a dent. Now it can't survive a one foot drop?"

"I said that because you happened to have an assortment of tools on display at your place after asking me a few too many questions about the anklet…" Peter replied slowly.

"I had the tools out for other reasons."

"Right… Well, sorry if I doubt your domestic handyman skills, Neal."

"Be that as it may," Neal countered, "we now also know this thing is sensitive to ice, so maybe it's not as resilient as you initially thought."

"Don't get any ideas in your head for when we get outta here," Peter replied.

"Let's just focus on actually getting out of here, Peter…" Neal retorted. "Maybe the light off means they've deactivated it because they've already established our location," he suggested.

Peter nodded. "Maybe." He looked at his watch again, perturbed at his inability to make out the numbers. "That's probably right, Neal."

"But why'd they deactivate it? What if we moved?"

Peter exhaled but said nothing. Ignoring his watch, he leaned his head back. "The light isn't necessarily indicative of tracking, Neal…"

A moment of silence passed between them, filled only with the sound of rain. Without realizing it, Peter's eyes slowly began to close once again.

"Peter," Neal objected. He reached out to jab him in the arm again. "Hey."

Eyes open, alert once again, Peter narrowed his gaze and jabbed Neal back, a sharp poke of fingers into his ribcage.

Neal grunted in return, pushing the hand away and glaring back.

"See you don't like it either," Peter stated in annoyance. He found a deep blue, stubborn stare in return. "Are you going to keep doing that?" Peter challenged.

Neal shifted uncertainly in his seat but responded with a firm, "Yes." His tone and eye contact betrayed his body language. "You have to stay awake, Peter."

Peter simply sighed.

Diana had only briefly spoken with the pilot's agency before she had enough information to be able to provide Hughes an update. Rather than prolong the discussion with the other party, she was anxious to give her superior any information they had. She should have expected it would be underwhelming.

The update was barely out of her mouth before Hughes was demanding she connect him to the agency in his office immediately.

After doing so, she stood by a little awkwardly across from him as he focused on the call. He sat at his desk as he continued the conversation directly with them, phone receiver to his ear. His other hand was clenched on his desk in a fist.

She could only hear one side of the discussion while observing him.

"So let me get this straight…" Hughes stated, voice low and ominous. "You received not one but two distress signals from your pilot, yet you chose not to notify us?"

There was a pause as the person on the other end of the line surely attempted a response.

"And that's your protocol?" Hughes continued angrily. "You left a voicemail and didn't think to escalate? Did you not understand that you were transporting a federal agent?"

Another pause.

"God dammit," Hughes clearly interrupted them. "Listen, at this point I don't even care about your excuse for a call tree," he responded irritably. His free hand unclenched and clenched again. "What I care about is the location of your aircraft. I need coordinates, and I need them now. I also need your best pilot to accompany my agents ASAP so that we can get my men out of there….. What do you mean, the weather?!"

Diana stiffened at the tone herself. She then heard movement behind her, accompanied by, "Hey, Diana."

Diana turned, finding Jones in the doorway. "Hey," she said, voice remaining low as she stepped further from Hughes desk and closer to her colleague. "What's going on?"

"You tell me," he answered, nodding towards the clearly agitated senior agent. He raised his eyebrows in question.

She sighed, glancing briefly back towards Hughes before returning her attention to Jones. "So apparently the pilot did send distress signals."

"Signals? As in plural?"

She nodded. "That's what they're saying..."

"And they were going to tell us… when?"

"Well, according to them, they tried to contact us to let us know," she continued. "A few times. But for some reason they only had Peter's number as the contact information for the assignment. So they left him a message…"

"And we all know how often he's been picking up his calls…" Jones rolled his eyes. "What kind of agency is this?" He shook his head. "Never mind. At this point I don't want to know. What now?"

She sighed. "Right. Well, they lost touch with the aircraft a couple hours ago."

"Hours?" Jones raised his eyebrows. "And what? Nothing from the pilot?"

"Nothing," she affirmed, shaking her head. "Hughes was asking for coordinates and another aircraft to help us locate them." She mused that 'asking' was probably an understatement for the conversation taking place behind her.

"Well, let's match those coordinates up with what the Marshal's and I have," Jones replied.

"You got Caffrey's location up?"

"Yeah. I've got it up on my computer now. We'll keep tracking it, but the location hasn't changed since the signal came that it was cut."

"That's a good sign, right?" she asked.

He didn't respond.

They both exchanged a look, uneasy.

Neal sighed, glancing for a countless time at the clock on his phone. As much as he tried to refrain, he couldn't help but often check the time and looked for a signal. He also noticed that while he still had a relatively healthy battery charge that it had diminished since he'd last checked it. He knew he should conserve it.

The rain still came down outside, heavy against the metal outer frame of the aircraft. It seemed heavier than earlier, and the air had a chill to it.

He was feeling on edge and tense. Too much time had passed.

Beside him, he could hear Peter breathing steadily. Despite best efforts, the man had closed his eyes again, and once more had seemed to doze off.

'Like hell he's resting his eyes,' Neal thought bitterly.

Despite that, Neal refrained from waking him again just yet. Peter's slack posture and inactive disposition made him nervous, as he was keen to avoid repeating the experience of being unable to rouse his handler, but at the same time, each time he'd jostled the man awake it had been met with a look of intense displeasure and a similar jab back.

Neal felt keeping Peter up was the right thing to do – it's what he was taught to do with concussions and not to mention it was company – but clearly his handler felt differently.

How Peter could be relaxed enough to rest and just wait in this whole situation befuddled him. He felt there should be a call to action – whatever that action may be – and yet Peter seemed resigned to sit back and wait. To 'rest his eyes.'

But was he relaxed? Or was that the fatigue from the hard hit he took to the head?

Neal's nature wasn't to sit. He wanted to move, to find the next step in their action plan. Sitting here stationary was driving him crazy.

The urge to go outside lingered.

It also wasn't lost on him that he was in an unusual situation… Despite the ominous weather outside, Neal couldn't help but consider what it would mean to leave Peter here. The thought of that filled him with a surprising sense of guilt but also a hint of adrenaline. That quickly turned to anxiety, and second-guessing himself – why would he think to leave and take that risk?

Still, a voice in his head (maybe it was Mozzie's) reminded him that it would be a snowball's chance in hell that he'd ever find himself without the anklet, without supervision, and with no one tracking him, for a long time again.

But to go where? Peter was somewhat right. They didn't know what was out there. And now it was getting later in the day, darker, and weather was not subsiding. Where did he think he could really go? Despite the obvious shortcomings of their situation, they were in a shelter, for better or for worse.

Who cares what is or isn't out there? the voice inside him asked. Freedom is out there.

A freedom that would be farther from reach than ever before if he was caught, he reminded himself. If he was caught, his whole arrangement would immediately end. There was a chance he could be successful, and escape, find a signal, get a plan… But… What would that chance give him? Was it worth it? After all, he was somewhat used to his routine with Peter. There were things he didn't like, and things he still needed to figure out, but it was a purpose each day anyway. Was he willing to just let that go?

As he watched Peter, chest rising and falling, he was reminded again of the feeling from an hour or so ago when he couldn't wake the man. He hadn't liked that feeling at all. That hadn't felt like an opportunity for freedom. That had felt like danger. Like an emergency.

And for that reason, he found himself nudging Peter again, though this time not as sharply or abruptly. The man didn't respond at first, and Neal pushed a little harder.

Peter's eyes opened again, though this time he didn't push the hand away. "I told you… You can stop doing that," Peter chided him, shifting in his seat and folding his arms across his chest. He looked uncomfortable.

Neal didn't respond at first, content that Peter kept his eyes open and didn't look too irritated. He then stated simply, "It's getting later."

"And weather's still bad," Peter noted, peering out past the windows. "Can't tell if it's darker or rainier."

"It's both," Neal stated.

"Both…" Peter echoed. "Of course, both…" He pulled his arm out from its tucked position against his chest and looked at his watch again. He then held it further away. "Dammit."

Neal observed him. "Still blurry?"

Peter's brows knit together as he shot Neal a look. "What?"

"Your vision."

"How do you know that?"

Neal shrugged.

"I didn't say anything," Peter persisted.

"It was just a hunch," Neal replied. "Not to mention it's a common side effect of a concussion."

"Enough speculation, Neal," Peter answered, a little irritably.

"Is it just blurry or double-vision?" Neal asked.

"And what would you do, depending on the answer?" Peter asked.

Neal sighed and leaned back in his seat, looking to his right out the window. He wasn't accustomed to Peter being so testy. Peter was usually more a voice of reason.

"Look, I'm fine, Dr. Caffrey," Peter responded. He then softened his tone slightly. "And you don't have to do anything, because they should be here soon. Did you check your phone again?"

With attention still out the window, Neal responded with his own sarcasm. "Check my phone? Good idea, Peter. It's likely that the increasingly bad weather would have improved my signal." As Peter rolled his eyes, Neal continued. "Yes, I checked the phone, Peter. And no – while it may shock you, there's not even a hint of a signal yet."

"Even better that we've stayed put then," Peter persisted. "So there's no mistaking our coordinates."

"What good are coordinates when it's dark and raining?"

Peter sighed, leaning his head back. The headache had barely subsided, but was now accompanied by immense fatigue.

"Peter."

"Hm." Peter lifted his head and turned to view the younger man beside him again.

"That wasn't a rhetorical question," Neal insisted.

Peter frowned. "What wasn't?"

"What good are coordinates when it's getting darker? And it's raining?"

"Weather doesn't change coordinates, Neal."

"But getting to those coordinates gets harder, Peter. Look where it got us."

Peter seemed to think about that for a moment. But then he asked, "Did Ed have a phone, Neal?"

Neal's expression changed. He eyed Peter skeptically. "I don't know and I'm not checking."

"It's possibly his phone could –"

"No." Neal's voice was adamant. "No. I am not going up there again."

"Neal, if he does have one, then—"

"NO. I'm not touching him," Neal persisted, voice rising. "If you want to check, then you're more than welcome to go up there yourself," he continued stubbornly. "I'm not doing it."

"Fine, fine…" Peter responded. He reached beside him and patted Neal's leg. "Forget it."

Neal pushed the hand away. "What would it do, anyway?" he spoke, as though defending his reaction. "I'm not doing it, but even if I did, what would that accomplish? You already said it yourself- the anklet tells them where we are. More accurately than we ever could. What's a phone—"

"It's fine…" Peter interjected, shushing him. "I won't ask you to do it."

Neal took a deep breath and then exhaled, almost as though in relief. He leaned back against his seat beside Peter, angling his head to keep his eyes on the older man. "Just stay awake, Peter."

"They'll be here soon," Peter responded.

Though it was hard for her to concentrate, Diana had to force herself back on the broader case for a short while. She checked in with other agents, fearful of more coincidental disruptions to their progress. Fearful of someone else becoming incapacitated or injured. Fortunately the next few calls she fielded had normal progress. The agents she spoke to were on course, with nothing unusual to report. Despite this, she reminded them all to be vigilant.

When she made her way back to Hughes and Jones, they were in a conference room with another agent sitting with them.

Hughes looked up at her entry to the room, nodding at her approvingly. She moved into the room and took a seat at the table next to Jones.

"So the good news…" Hughes spoke, voice calm yet morose. "Is that we know where Peter was. We have coordinates from both the helicopter itself, which their agency has verified verbally and through a formal transmission, and we have the coordinates from the Marshals, from Caffrey's anklet. And the two match."

Diana sighed, feeling a little comfort at that. "So they haven't moved."

"Or the anklet hasn't," Hughes said sardonically, eyeing her from across the table. "There's no telling where Caffrey is now. Or whether they're together."

"He's with Peter," Diana stated, frowning.

"We don't know that," Hughes replied stiffly. "He could be, and they could be right at these coordinates, or he could be miles away by now if this was part of some sort of plan of his…"

"Plan?" she echoed. She was a little surprised again by their senior agent's default to a pessimism about their CI, but also realized that was probably a conservative measure… If asked, would she risk her career on betting he hadn't done something? She frowned.

"We've been checking the coordinates of the anklet continuously," Jones spoke up. "There's been a change of only a degree or so in the last couple of hours. So wherever it was cut, that's where it is now."

"And like Hughes mentioned, it matches the aircraft," the other agent stated.

Diana looked at that agent across the table. "I'm Diana by the way," she told him.

"Gerry," he answered.

They nodded in mutual acquaintance.

"I don't care so much where the hardware is," Hughes stated brusquely. "I'd like to find my agent. But the bad news is that weather and daylight is against us."

"You have the coordinates," Diana started.

"We do," Hughes affirmed. "And I have Gerry, who was ready to operationalize a team to get in there with the aircraft, but the helicopter agency, the ones who are the so-called experts in this location, are advising us to wait until morning."

"Morning?" Diana exclaimed. She felt her jaw drop a bit. "But, Sir, it's—"

"Late and getting later," Hughes interjected, giving her a look. "Trust me, Agent Berrigan. I'm not happy about this either."

"Can we go in ourselves?"

"If we could, we would have to begin with," Gerry stated. "I was consulted with when this excursion first came up. We—"

"And you are who exactly?" Diana interrupted. She then shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm—"

"He's got the expertise on whether or not we can get in there," Jones cut in. "Trust me, Diana. Gerry's one of the best special ops agents we have."

"And my team reviewed the plans," Gerry continued. He spoke patiently despite the interruption. "That area is… diverse to say the least. It's a mix of shoreline on the far edges. But most of it is wooded for miles with uneven terrain. The woods are very thick, and even on a good day, you've got to know your way around to be able to find a place to land."

"On a good day," she echoed. Her eyes went towards the window where it was darker than earlier, with storm clouds dropping steady rain on the city.

"We want to get them out of there safely," Gerry continued. "Honestly, I was surprised anything was even there that would be case-worthy. I rarely hear of anyone over there except for some hikers. Though I hear it's beautiful over there in the fall."

"I'm sure it is. But back to Peter and Neal. We're going to leave them there overnight?" Diana asked, directing the question to their supervisor. She was uneasy. "Really? I mean, do we know if they're even okay? You said there was a distress signal. They might need medical attention."

Hughes closed his eyes briefly but shook his head. "Hopefully that's not the case." He paused. "But we have no other choice right now. Gerry's going to organize a flyover leaving within the hour, and—"

"Flyover?" Diana echoed.

Gerry met her eye. "We'll head over the area, search lights on, and check the surrounding areas as well. But it's unlikely in this weather we're going to see anything."

She nodded. That was better than nothing, she supposed. "And what if they try to get out of there themselves?"

"On foot?" Hughes asked. "Peter is smarter than that."

Diana sighed. She wasn't sure how Hughes was confident in this decision. There were so many unknown factors. But perhaps there was really no other alternative…

Finally she spoke. "Fine. It's a plan." She cleared her throat and then looked at Hughes again. "Who's going to call Elizabeth?"

Neal found as long as he maintained dialogue with Peter, the man was less likely to close his eyes.

And so he forced it.

He was careful now not to focus his words on their current predicament or their next steps. Each time he did, even an observation versus a suggestion, Peter grew a bit impatient. As much as Neal wished to be miles away from his current distance to Ed and this aircraft, he also wished not to cross Peter, his only companion for the foreseeable future and someone whose opinion of him mattered after this. So he forced himself to relinquish any earlier discussions on what they could do, and instead focused on simply keeping Peter from dozing off.

If there was one thing he did with ease, it was to read people and to know his audience. He judged Peter's attention and demeanor as he spoke and adjusted accordingly.

He knew Peter liked to gather information on him. So while keeping it as impersonal as possible, he spoke about himself, things he knew he'd never told Peter about. Little stories, of no consequence.

"I was stranded with Mozzie once." He watched as Peter raised his eyebrows. "Several hours. Car broke down. Middle of a heist and our escape route found us in the middle of nowhere with no cell service. "

"And… You're comparing that to this?" Peter asked him.

"Not really," Neal mused. "We didn't have a cadaver in the car."

"Funny," Peter responded dryly. His expression implied it was anything but funny.

"And Moz was a slightly better conversationalist." Neal paused. As Peter gave him a look, eyes narrowed, Neal smiled at him, flashing teeth. "Only slightly, Peter."

Peter didn't respond, grunting slightly.

Neal quickly changed topics, switching to another story. One that went back a few more years. As he spoke, Peter was initially engaged, looking quite interested, but after a few minutes he could see Peter's attention dwindling slightly.

Concussions really did a number, he realized.

"Peter," he stated the man's name louder than before.

"I'm listening," Peter assured him.

Neal was about to say something else, to joke that he'd answer any questions Peter might have, when something caught his attention. Beyond the rain, there was the hum of something, growing louder.

He frowned, looking towards the front of the aircraft into the only open air they had within line of sight through the broken windshield.

"Hear that?" he asked Peter.

Peter frowned as well, pausing as he also attempted to listen. "Not really, Neal…"

"I hear something," Neal insisted.

"Like what?"

Neal leaned forward, listening more keenly. "Like a helicopter." It grew louder now and he grew more and more sure he recognized that sound. "Maybe that's them, Peter. Do you hear it now?"

"I hear something," Peter admitted. He leaned a little more in the same direction as Neal.

Neal began to nod. "Yeah… Yeah, that's definitely the sound of another helicopter, Peter. I can hear it over the rain. And it's getting closer." For the first time in the last couple hours, Neal felt optimistic. Maybe Peter had been right. It just took a little while for them to come.

They both grew silent, waiting. The sound of rain, beating down on the metal frame of the aircraft in a strong rhythm like a drum, and now this sound of a loud humming, growing louder, held their attention.

A moment later, Neal spotted something else.

"Search lights," he spoke.

Peter squinted out through the front of the aircraft. "What?"

"I see it," Neal insisted. "There's search lights. Far up there." He pointed out in the distance. "See?"

Peter slowly shook his head. "Honestly? Neal, all I see is rain and a whole bunch of trees. All I see is darkness."

"Well, I see it," Neal replied adamantly. "And they're going to see me." He shifted away from Peter, back towards the far end of the seat, reaching for the door.

"Neal…" Peter objected. "Wait."

"Wait for what? Peter, we have to," Neal told him. "We have to make sure they know we're here. They're never going to spot us unless we move." He pulled at the door handle. He didn't care what Peter said this time. This was their chance. "Dammit, is this thing jammed?"

"If they don't see this giant aircraft, they're not going to see you in the darkness," Peter insisted.

"I have flares." Neal forgot about the door for a moment, moving about the back of the aircraft now on a clear mission. He shuffled through the earlier discarded bag of supplies.

"Neal—"

"We've been through this and yes you can light them in the rain," Neal insisted. He felt Peter watching him and he moved quickly. He knew there was a limited window of time before the helicopter would hover, see nothing, and move on.

The hum of that potential rescue grew louder.

With two flares tucked under his arm, he shifted himself back to the end of their row of seats and focused back on the door. He pulled at the handle and then using his full body weight, pushed against it with all the force he could muster.

With that the door budged, opening up to reveal the rain and dark woods. He let out a breath, a mixture of relief and adrenaline. Relief that the door had opened, as he had started to grow concerned about the possibility of having to go through the front of the aircraft to exist – past Ed and through a broken windshield.

He heard nothing but the beating of his heart, blood pounding, as he pushed himself past the frame of the door, out into the wet, cold night.