Diana frowned at the screen of her cell phone, a private number flashing on the display. She had just been on her way back from the restroom when the device began to ring from her pocket. She paused now in the hallway, exhausted, debating whether or not to pick it up.

The last thing she wanted to deal with at the moment was a telemarketer.

With a sigh and a last minute, split decision on a whim to take the call, she flipped the phone open and put it to her ear while stifling a yawn. "Hello?"

"Diana."

"Peter?" she responded in surprise. She had not been expecting to hear his voice and was now thankful she had made the decision to answer the phone. Her fatigue immediately vanished and she stood up straighter on alert. "Where are you?"

"Listen," he said, voice steady but a little abrupt. "You're on speaker phone, and we only have a few seconds."

"We sent a search crew, Peter. But it was too dark and—"

"I know. It's okay," he interjected.

"What happened? Are you alright?" There was something about his tone that she struggled to read.

"Yes," he replied, though it sounded forced. There were some muffled voices at that point, as though Peter was having a discussion with someone else. Someone that didn't sound like Neal.

"Who is that?" Diana asked.

"I only have a couple seconds," Peter repeated, not addressing her question. Behind him was now quiet. The other voice was now mysteriously absent or simply silent. "Diana. Tell me – has anything happened?"

"Happened?" she asked, frowning at the question. A lot had happened. "Peter, what do you mean? We—"

"To any of the other agents," Peter persisted. "Has anything happened to them? Any… accidents?"

Diana paused. The question was unexpected but strangely relevant. How would he know? "Actually, yes," she admitted. "Jeff and Beth. They're fine, Peter, but there was–"

The phone clicked, the call ending abruptly.

"Peter?" she asked. She pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at the screen. The call had clearly disconnected.

She checked the call log again and stared for a moment at the "Unknown" that appeared in the list. Incoming. Thirty-five seconds.

"Dammit," she muttered.

She rushed down the hallway, heading back to the bullpen with a renewed sense of urgency.

When Neal came to, it was to the emergence of a splitting headache.

His eyes opened slowly at first, a feeling of haziness slowly but heavily weighing over him before anything else breached his awareness. Then without delay recent events suddenly replayed to him in a flash, jarring him back to more vivid alertness rapidly.

The room ahead of him appeared blurred at first, but the initial images that registered made it apparent that he was still in the bunker. The other thing that was evident was that his vantage point was currently sideways.

He quickly realized he was slumped over, on the cold ground, and started to sluggishly pull himself to sit upright as his skull throbbed. He turned his head, wincing silently as his body immediately objected. He reached a hand out to brace himself but was reminded of his restraints.

The last thing he remembered was an escalation between Peter and Dean. He'd been watching their interaction, holding back his own desire to engage. While listening silently, he'd been trying to piece together the clues that were suddenly emerging. Precipitously the intersection of their existence was lining up… Then unexpectedly, things intensified, with Peter reacting to a threat related to Elizabeth. Upon seeing the launch of an altercation, Neal couldn't help but spring into action himself.

He remembered the image of Dean coming towards him.

There had been a surge in his own adrenaline and desire to defend himself. Then darkness.

He grunted at the memory and his current physical state.

"Hey. Go easy." The familiar voice came from beside him. The message was then accompanied by a hand on his shoulder.

He could barely manage to look up at the source while also finally managing to shift himself to an upright seated position. He turned his head finally and with a limited grimace eyed his handler beside him. The other man's expression was stony yet he hoped the unfriendliness wasn't directed at him.

"Peter," Neal spoke. He cleared his throat as his voice came out hoarse. His eyes then searched the room – the desk, the couch, the rest of it – looking for Dean. "Where is he?"

"He stepped away a few minutes ago," Peter replied. "You okay?"

Neal tugged at his hands again. The cuffs had been tightened considerably and the realization irked him. Brow furrowing, he grunted yet again, testing to find any remaining slackness before giving Peter an accusing look.

Peter raised his eyebrows and lifted his own hands, which now appeared to be similarly bound. "He's not taking any more chances on you," Peter explained, tone low and only audible due to their close proximity. "Nor me." He then added, "You're going to have quite the bruise, by the way." He paused before more directly stating, "You should have stayed out of it."

"I felt it was only fair that we both had a concussion, Peter," Neal answered dismissively. He avoided eye contact, studying the room. What was he supposed to have done? "He stepped away to go where? When is he coming back?"

"He said he'd be back shortly."

Neal started to shift his position again. Maybe they had enough time to look around, to find more leverage. Maybe there was a key for these damn handcuffs. His aching head was spinning, but he imagined he could push past it. He braced both arms on the ground beside him, forced to operate them as one joint unit. "And who is he? I think you figured out how you know him. Finally, huh?"

"I did," Peter replied, watching him with a sigh. "Neal," he said sternly. As Neal began to unsteadily rise, Peter quickly reached over and took him by the crux of his arm, pulling him back down. It didn't take much effort.

Neal muttered something imperceptible as his backside hit the floor. Frustration radiated from his posture.

"Look at me," Peter directed.

"You're mad," Neal commented with a sigh. "Do we really have time for that?"

"Neal."

Neal took a deep breath and turned his head to make eye contact. "You would've done the same thing, Peter."

"Yes, I would have." Peter said, scrutinizing him in a clinical way. He narrowed his eyes as he studied him. "I'm just checking your pupils… Are you dizzy?"

"I'm fine. My vision is fine," Neal answered curtly. His eyes darted away to look across the room again. "And before you say anything, you were the one that jumped up and—"

"I know," Peter responded with equivalent terseness. "Did I criticize what you did?"

Neal paused. "No," he admitted.

"I would have done the same thing," Peter told him again, voice earnest. "But you need to be careful around him, Neal. And give me another second here, please, will you? How many fingers?"

Neal ignored the hands now jutting into his line of vision. "Fifteen," he said sarcastically. As Peter responded with a not unexpected 'tsk' of disapproval, Neal continued. "What does he want from you, Peter?" he asked, shifting the topic away from himself to the more critical situation at hand. "To have you locate this woman for him? Why? Who is he? Who was she?"

Peter nodded tiredly, a look of general concern and fatigue on his face. "I'll tell you what I know. But one question at a time, Neal."

"And what do you mean he stepped away? Is he still here?" Neal gestured at the room, implying the broader bunker as his eyes searched the space again. They didn't really even know how big this place was. There was another door. It could lead to other doors, other rooms. "Or did he go back outside? We could block the door, Peter."

"And then you add more questions…" Peter replied wryly.

"Sorry. One at a time," Neal agreed, turning his head back to Peter with an apologetic look. "First one then – is he still here?"

"Yes," Peter answered. "He went through that door a few minutes ago. After he conveniently located another pair of handcuffs." He motioned towards the door several feet away with bound hands. "I don't know where it goes. I didn't get to see."

Neal stared at the door. "So let's block that door," he said insistently.

"And then what, Neal?"

"It buys time. You said before you wanted to buy time." Neal returned his gaze to his handler, where he met a shaking head. "Why not?"

"He's on a timeline," Peter said, voice clearly aggravated by this new fact. "Unless I cooperate, he's got a sequence of events underway…. A plan of things that will happen."

"Timeline," Neal echoed. "Sure he does," he said cynically. "That's usually bullshit, Peter. Trust me, I know."

"It's not this time, Neal. He let me speak to Diana."

Neal's eyebrows rose. "Wait - what? When?"

"While you were enjoying your beauty rest."

"How, Peter?" Neal persisted, ignoring the jab.

"A quick call." Peter rubbed at his eyes briefly, an awkward gesture with handcuffed hands. "A couple people have already gotten hurt, Neal. Diana confirmed it. She—"

"Hurt?"

"They're okay, Neal. But it proves he's got some influence out there."

"She'll trace the call," Neal stated optimistically.

"Neal, she already knows where we are from you." Peter shook his head as he gestured at Neal, at the hidden anklet with its tracking device. His voice was a bit frustrated, as though he was repeating all of the internal arguments he'd already had with himself. "He doesn't know that, but it doesn't matter. We don't have until morning anymore."

"Where's his phone?"

"He has it."

Neal frowned, feeling exasperated. "Well, what did Diana—"

"I don't know," Peter interjected sharply, not letting the question form. He was clearly bothered by the concept and his lack of control. "The call was barely thirty seconds, Neal."

Neal's brow furrowed further. "So who is he, Peter?"

Peter worked his jaw, silent for a moment. "He assisted the Bureau for a little while. Years ago."

"Assisted," Neal echoed. "What's that mean, assisted?"

"I know your vocabulary includes that word."

"Yeah, but how did he assist?"

"Offering certain services." Peter paused. "Like contacts. Information."

"Information," Neal echoed.

"Among other things," Peter replied.

Neal narrowed his eyes slightly. "Sounds a bit like a CI."

Peter didn't respond.

"Was he a CI, Peter?"

"Not mine," Peter responded.

"But he was?"

"Yes," Peter finally acknowledged. He met Neal's eye. "And before you ask, it was a very different situation than yours, Neal. The informant program isn't exactly cookie cutter."

"What'd he do?"

Peter shook his head. "I'm not getting into that with you. But at the end, he killed someone, and that's why he ended up back on the inside."

"Why was he originally on the inside?"

"Neal," Peter stated his name with warning, a little more impatiently than he intended. "That doesn't matter. We don't have time for me to explain everything to you."

"Is his situation really that complicated that you can't even answer?"

"Neal."

"Come on, Peter. Give me the Cliff's notes version."

Peter sighed, shaking his head slightly yet again. Knowing it went against better judgment, he acquiesced and responded, "He was a thief. Okay?"

"Of?"

Peter exhaled again. "I'm going to tell you, and then we move on, okay? His specialty was fine art."

Neal's brow furrowed. "I thought you said he wasn't like me."

"Stop it. He's not, Neal."

"And you didn't remember him? At all?" Neal replied.

"Once I realized who he was, I certainly remembered. Like it was yesterday."

"But you didn't recognize him before that? He clearly knows you. He knows Elizabeth."

Peter narrowed his eyes, reminded of Dean's threat against his wife. "I wouldn't say he knows her. He met her once at an office holiday party."

"I haven't been to an office holiday party."

"There hasn't been a holiday party, Neal." He studied Neal's face. Was Neal seriously comparing himself to this guy? Peter felt a rare moment of rawness from Neal, of some sort of emotion, but didn't have time to reflect on it. "Why are you looking at me like that, Neal? He wasn't my CI," Peter repeated. "It's been years. Not to mention he was hooded, now has a beard…" He reflected on the look in Neal's eyes, which seemed to be a mixture of skepticism and suspicion. Not to mention exhaustion.

Neal noticeably paused before responding, seemingly forcing his usual façade to return. The previous look in his eyes was gone. "I only asked because it helps to know who I'm dealing with."

"That's fine," Peter responded. He could tell the realization that their captor was a preceding CI for the Bureau was not sitting well with Neal. He knew he'd have to come back to that with Neal at some point eventually, but pushed away that thought for now to focus on their current situation. "You done with all your questions?"

Neal nodded, raising his hands to scratch at his head, his fingers pulling away with flecks of dried blood caught under his fingernails. He observed this only for a second before reneging on his cessation of questions with a follow-up inquiry. "He killed someone?"

Peter nodded solemnly. "I don't want to talk about him, Neal. We don't have time. Just know he's dangerous. You can't challenge him. Understand?"

Neal nodded, though appeared uncertain. He then asked, "So then what's the plan?"

"That's right. We need a plan," Peter agreed.

"I still think we can overpower him."

"No. Are you not listening to me? What's your Plan B?"

"Why not? There are two of us."

"How about the fact we're both handcuffed, weaponless, and concussed?" Peter answered. "And did you not register the small detail I told you about him being dangerous?"

"You're underestimating the strength of the element of surprise," Neal replied.

"You're underestimating the fact he's probably listening to us right now." Peter had kept his voice low this whole period of time with that same concern in mind.

Neal narrowed his eyes. He then looked around the room before returning his gaze to Peter, now whispering. "Do you think so? I didn't think of that."

Peter sighed. He whispered back, "It crossed my mind he might be testing us. I'm not sure where he went or why."

"But you said he's still here. In this… bunker."

"I think so, Neal. I just don't know for sure. I don't know how large this place is or if there are any other entry points."

Neal again scanned the usual places a room would have surveillance. There was nothing of note in the corners of the ceilings, or anywhere else he could see. But that wasn't to say there wasn't something there.

Peter spoke again. "There's really only one plan, Neal."

"We could see what's behind those doors," Neal remarked.

"Hey. Are you listening to me?"

Neal turned his head. He met Peter's eye and nodded. His mind was running with ideas, scenarios, and options that they could consider. But he knew he had to listen to Peter.

"The only plan that I can see," Peter continued, voice remaining low, discreet, "is that I follow along." As he said this, he watched Neal's face. As expected, his CI's expression changed, and he waited for his objection. It didn't come, at least verbally - the physical signs of skepticism were there. Peter continued before he could voice a disagreement. "If I don't, I risk a sequence of events that not only effect the Bureau but also my wife."

"Do you really think he can do that? How?"

"How," Peter echoed. He scoffed. "I don't know, Neal. I don't care. I'm not risking that."

"It could be a bluff."

"I'm not risking Elizabeth on a bluff."

Neal continued to look at him, blue eyes unblinking. But he then nodded. "I agree. But play along, Peter? How do you do that from here?"

"I'm imagining he'll allow another phone call. To let me start putting into flight some steps to get him the information he needs."

Neal nodded again. "So who will you call? Diana again?"

"No. Hughes," Peter replied. "We have a system in place for something like this."

"For being held hostage?" Neal replied, raising his eyebrows.

"Among other things."

"Really?" Neal asked.

"Of course we do. Goes back to the procedures and processes you've failed to pay attention to."

"I'm impressed."

"Don't be until we're out of here, Neal." Peter took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Let's just hope we can make him think we're helping him and then let the team run their interference."

"What do I do?"

"You stay away from him and remain quiet. Trust me, you're helping me if you stay out of the way. Understand?"

"Yes," Neal acknowledged. There was a moment's pause before he added, "Maybe we need a system like that, Peter."

"You and me?"

Neal nodded.

Peter reached over with his handcuffed wrists to bump his hands against Neal's leg a few inches away. "Fine, Neal. We'll do that. Let's just get out of here first."