Neal felt motivated as he ran, a sense of focus and purpose despite the cold, heavy rain that soaked his clothes and blurred his vision. He was working in opposition of the climate, trying to run faster despite its push against him.

It was admittedly harder out here to make out the sound of the helicopter above (or anything at all) and harder still to make out any hint of the search light he had previously sworn he'd seen. It was dark and heavily wooded; simply avoiding a fall or running into a tree was a hard enough task in itself.

Regardless of any currently arising doubt of what he'd seen, he powered on in that one previously identified direction, the wooded ground crunching under his feet, cautious arms raised out as he ran, the darkness forcing him to rely on other senses to move forward. The rain was somehow deafening and blinding at the same time.

After a couple minutes of running, losing sight of the target, he slowed, panting. He felt a slight ache in his side from the effort. He strained to hear the sound of their potential rescue overhead and felt a sense of alarm that he wasn't as certain of the direction of the noise. Or the noise at all. It seemed more distant now. It seemed almost in his head.

He grunted, frustrated, trying to refrain from being so winded.

He also knew he'd been running 'straight' but as he glanced behind himself to look back towards where he had come from, which now looked like a dark, distant, wooded bleakness, he felt a sense of eeriness and concern.

He breathed in and out heavily, pushing strands of wet hair out of his eyes. Rain continued to beat down. The flares, tucked under his arms, suddenly felt somewhat out of place and inadequate.

He stood motionless, out of breath. A feeling of numbness was overcoming him. It was only getting darker. Now what?

Was that it?

Was the moment, the chance at rescue, over?

He refused to believe that. It couldn't be. But at the same time, some of Peter's last word's echoed in his mind: "If they don't see this giant aircraft, they're not going to see you in the darkness."

At the time, Neal would beg to differ – after all, in becoming a moving target, he would surely make himself easily identifiable from the sky despite the darkness and thick tree covering. He was certain of it.

Neal looked up at the darkness and trees, feeling far from infallible now. Rain continued to pour down, and he was beyond soaked.

Was he ready to admit defeat?

Peter would probably chew him out. Tell him it had been foolish to run into the woods like that. He suddenly had a flashback of just days ago, stuck in the car with Peter, arguing over his involvement in stepping into the line of fire to help with the case. Arguing over the decisions he made. He'd been confined to his own home that night. This would be a similar feeling of confinement, back in the aircraft for likely the rest of the night.

It was inevitable.

The longer he waited, the more soaked he got.

Was the only option being stranded in the aircraft until daylight?

He exhaled, ready to turn back. He took a step in that direction.

It was at that moment that a bright light was abruptly shined into his face, accompanied by an unfamiliar voice. "Well, well, well…. What do we have here?"

Immediately Neal's hand rose instinctively to protect his eyes as he winced at the unexpected, blinding light.

Caught off guard, he could see nothing beyond this bright orb in his face. He felt a sudden sense of anxiety at the unanticipated encounter. He responded to the voice loudly, feeling a need to talk over the rain. "Who are you?"

"You tell me first," responded the husky voice behind the light. "You're not Peter."

Neal squinted into the brightness, trying to make out the appearance of the person holding it. All he could see behind the blinding light was a dark shadow, a crude outline of a person. He tried to gauge the person's size. The only thing he could determine at the moment was that the voice was male. Anything else was difficult to make out. He tried not to feel panic. He still felt himself breathing heavily from the run. "Who are you? How do you know Peter?"

"My questions first, pretty boy. Who are you?" replied the other man.

Neal couldn't respond. He found himself feeling mixed up and confused. Exhaustion mixed with this sudden chaos. He hadn't expected to find someone on the ground. He'd been completely focused on the air. The only option had been the air. He now had an ominous feeling that this person had nothing to do with the helicopter he had heard overhead just a short while earlier…

But it was someone who had known they were here.

Someone who referred to Peter by his first name.

He looked up again towards the sky. Rain fell in heavy drops on his face, blurring his vision.

"They're long gone," the man told him dismissively. The blinding light, now recognizable as a flashlight in the other man's hand, moved closer. "Now who the hell are you? Are you with Peter?"

Neal wasn't sure what the risk would be of affirming, or otherwise. How did this person know who Peter was? He wasn't sure if there had been a specific contact for them to meet here. He didn't think so. Peter had described a bunker, something they would have to explore. Not meeting someone.

It was rare he found himself speechless. But this time, caught in under a bright beam of light as though under interrogation, beneath the heavy rain of the darkening day, he was struggling to come up with a position to play.

"Hey. Answer me. You with Peter? You don't look like an agent," the man continued, tone skeptical.

"Looks can be deceiving," Neal responded, finding his voice. He continued to try to make out the description of the man. First rule was always to know your opponent. But how could you do that without seeing them? But something else continued to irk him. "You said Peter. But how do you know Peter? Who are you?"

"Peter and I go very far back," the man said. "I'm the reason Peter's here. How did I know he would save this site for himself? I had no doubt."

There was something in the words that made Neal shiver. The man also seemed unaffected by the heavy rain that continued to pour down. He didn't seem bothered by the weather at all. Neal shifted his weight for another perspective, trying to get another angle beyond the light. It looked like the person appeared to be in a hooded garment, likely a raincoat. "Go far back how?" Neal asked, still holding his arm up to shade his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey, are those flares?" the man replied. His hand reached out towards the items tucked under Neal's arm. "What good are those in this weather?" His voice sounded amused.

Neal took a step back defensively.

"You're definitely not an agent," the man told him, readily moving with him. With that statement, he then knocked the flares out of Neal's arms with one quick movement. "Was this your plan? To set off flares? Did Peter tell you to do that?"

Neal felt the emptiness in his arms, where the small weight of the flares had been secured before. He debated picking them up but instead stood his ground, not wanting to potentially put himself in a susceptible position. With the helicopter gone, he didn't need the flares now now. That attempt was past, failed. He took another slow but deliberate step back.

"Oh no, not so fast," the man told him.

Neal stood his ground. The flashlight continued to blind him. Because of it, he still couldn't see the person speaking to him. His eyes objected to the continued blinding brightness.

He suddenly felt very alone, and handicapped of his usual senses.

He debated running, but instead took yet another slower step back.

"If you run, I'll catch you." The man spoke as though he'd read his mind. "I saw you running before- you're fast, I'll give you that, but you had no idea where you were going. I know this land far better than you do. And I know you can't see me, but I'm armed."

"So am I," Neal instinctively lied.

The man laughed. "No you're not."

Neal exhaled in frustration, wiping wetness from his face futilely. "Who are you?" The continued spotlight on him was making him feeling anxious.

"I'm the reason Peter is here," the man responded. "Is he still in the helicopter?"

Neal didn't respond. He wanted to craft a response, but didn't know what the man knew. He didn't know the backstory. He didn't know if they had been watched. His mind was running on overdrive. It was hard to gauge the right response.

"Is he injured?" the man asked.

"No," Neal answered, feeling defensive.

"Why didn't he come out with you?"

"I'm faster," Neal replied. "How do you know him?"

"What about the pilot?" the man persisted. "He injured? He was easier to take down than I expected. But I admit it went a little further than the simple incapacitation I was planning."

"You made us crash?" Neal demanded. His stomach twisted. "How? Why?" Who was this guy?

"My questions. Are you with the pilot or Peter?" the man continued. "And what's your name?"

"How do you know Peter?" Neal asked, ignoring the question. He was increasingly perturbed to not be able to see who he was talking to. Personal contact usually locked in his ability to deal with people.

"Guessing the answer is Peter," the man replied, chuckling a bit. "What's your name?"

"What's it matter?" Neal responded, wiping rain off his face yet again. "What do you want?"

"What I want has to do with Peter, and not you," the man responded brusquely. "You help me, and you can get out of here. You're not his kid or anything, are you?"

"No," Neal replied. He responded quickly, a little taken aback by the question. And the obvious aversion that the man had to Peter.

"Good. Then you'll help me," the man replied. "Now stop walking backwards. You think I don't notice that?"

Neal stopped. He felt his movement had been gradual enough to be undetected but realized being under a literal spotlight didn't help…

"Here's what we're going to do…" the man continued. "You're going to go back to the aircraft and return to Peter and the pilot. You're going to tell them that the little plan you guys had to catch up with the pathetic excuse for search and rescue that just passed – 'cause I assume that's what this was – worked, and you found help."

Neal felt frozen on the spot. "And then what?" he asked.

"And then I'll take care of things."

Neal felt a chill once again and knew it wasn't the rain.

"If I found help," Neal began, wiping his sleeve across his face to clear rain from his eyes again, "wouldn't I be returning with help?"

"No, they couldn't land here," the man continued. "Have you looked around? Were you guys able to land? You'd have to go to the clearing."

"What clearing?" Neal asked. "How far is that?" If there even is one nearby, he thought cynically.

"Don't worry about that. We won't have to get that far." The man raised the flashlight a little higher, centering the light on Neal more directly. "You just tell him to follow you."

"To where?" Neal continued to squint into the bright light, yet again wishing he could see who he was talking to. Who the hell was this mystery person in the middle of no where, who knew Peter?

"You'll see. Just do it." A hand reached out, pushing Neal against the shoulder. "Let's go."

Neal slowly shook his head. "He won't believe me," he replied.

"Why not?" the man retorted.

"He won't. And I don't have enough information."

"You have plenty of information." The man's voice grew rigid.

Neal was buying time. But he didn't know for what. He couldn't run. Hell, he didn't even know how big the guy was. And Peter wouldn't find him here. No one would come. Real help had passed over them. And despite not knowing who this man was or what he wanted, he didn't have much of a choice other than to do what the man was telling him. Or risk some consequence. He decided to risk it a little longer. "How did they contact me?"

"Huh?"

Neal didn't know if the response was because the man couldn't hear him over the rain or because he wasn't understanding the question. Both were possible. He also realized he was shivering now, the cold settling in now that he'd been stationary after his run, sweat turned cold. He started to estimate how far he was from Peter. He also wondered what Peter would do if he wasn't back after a period of time… Would he try to find him? Would he just stew? Would he fall back asleep?

Neal swallowed. He then set his jaw and kept calm.

"How would this 'help' have contacted me?" Neal persisted. "They weren't able to land. He'll ask how I got instructions on where to meet them," he continued, "if I never made contact with them."

The man pushed him again, this time harder. His voice turned more authoritarian. "Enough questions. Let's go."

Neal exhaled, feeling defeated. A hand gripped his shoulder, pushing him to move.

Diana knew from the look on Jones' face as he approached what the news was going to be.

She sighed, dropping the pen in her hand. "Nothing?"

Jones shrugged before he answered, not speaking until he reached her desk. "Gerry knew what he was talking about," he said. He leaned against the corner of her desk and crossed his arms over his chest. "He knew it was a long shot."

"So nothing," she repeated. "Not even a clue."

"That they could see," Jones said, stressing the word. "Like I said, they expected conditions to be like that. For visibility to be crap. It was worth a shot, but it didn't get us anywhere. But we have coordinates. We have what we need to find them."

"In the morning," she replied.

"Morning," he echoed. "Yeah."

"Based on the coordinates, they are there," Diana said. "In the middle of no where. They haven't contacted us which means there's no way to contact us. We don't know if anything happened. And we're supposed to just sit here and wait until tomorrow morning?"

"What's the alternative?" Jones asked. "I'm with you, Diana, I am. But what's the other choice?"

She sighed. She didn't know. There wasn't one. "I just can't imagine, just being stuck there – overnight."

"Boss wouldn't want us to speculate," Jones said. "There's nothing else we can do."

"I know," she admitted. "I just wonder what Hughes told El…"

"Neal, what the hell," was Peter's initial reaction when Neal returned to the aircraft.

Neal ignored the admonishment and moved quickly, coming through the open door he'd left through before. He didn't know how long ago 'before' had been. Time was now a blur. So much for keeping track.

He moved across the backseat, a sopping wet form, weighted down by his drenched clothes and leaving puddles everywhere he touched.

"Peter," he spoke, out of breath.

"You can't just run off," Peter berated him. "After what? Lights in the sky? Lots of good that did, Neal. Look at you. You –"

"Listen to me," Neal persisted, speaking only as loudly as he had to. "Lower your voice."

"And what, listen to your excuses? You listen to me, Neal—"

"Please," Neal persisted. "You can yell at me later. There's—"

"Later? When, Neal? When you've –"

"Peter," Neal interjected more emphatically. He gave him a purposefully look. "There's a guy outside."

"A guy?" Peter looked at him in disbelief. "What?"

"A guy who knows you, Peter," Neal continued emphatically. "Lower your voice."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Peter sat up and looked out his window, then towards the open door. "Are out of your mind, Neal? No one is out there."

Neal shook his head, wet ringlets of hair matted against his forehead. "We don't have a lot of time. He wanted me to lie to you. He wanted me to get you outside. He—"

"What are you talking about?" Peter persisted.

"Listen to me!" Neal hissed. "He's only a few yards away. I'm supposed to bring you outside."

"Neal…"

"Why would I lie about this?" Neal persisted in exasperation. "Why would I? You're hurt. And he knows you somehow, and I don't think he's fond of the acquaintance." Neal leaned in closer and reached out to grip Peter's forearm. "I need to you to listen to me."

"How is it possible someone's out there?"

"I don't know," Neal admitted, wishing to get past Peter's skepticism. "But he knows you."

"Someone is out there that knows me," Peter reiterated. He still looked skeptical.

"I know, I know. It sounds crazy. It is crazy." Neal squeezed his arm harder. "But please believe me. He's armed."

"Armed?" Peter echoed.

Allegedly, Neal thought in his head. He had so many options running through his head and was trying to decide which one made sense. There wasn't enough time to consult with Peter. Getting him to listen had taken up all the time he had. "Give me your gun, and—"

Peter shook his head and breathed out an audible huff of disbelief. "Oh no. Not a chance. You think—"

"Peter," Neal raised his voice while trying to keep his voice low. There was no telling what the man outside, lurking in the rainy shadows could hear. "I don't think you're understanding me!" He exhaled, wishing he could get his plan across in a convincing way. "I go and tell him you didn't believe me, or couldn't come, or whatever. And then he comes to check and while his back is turned—"

"No," Peter responded. "No, Neal. Whoever it is—"

"You don't know who it is," Neal objected. "We're going to be out of time. We're—"

"You're already out of time," came a voice from behind him.