Diana found herself constantly looking at her watch. It was instinctive, almost subconscious.

Now that Gerry had given them a ballpark estimate of what time he and his team would be able to go in and attempt to extract Peter and Neal from their last known location, it was all she could focus on.

"What do you mean by attempt?" she had asked with skepticism, repeating Gerry's words back to him.

The man had nodded, as though expecting that question. "I mean exactly what the word implies... We don't know if they're still there or what the conditions will be. The only thing I'm guaranteeing with this time is some daylight."

She hadn't challenged that, since technically it was true. It was hard to argue with facts, but she was left with a feeling of anxiety as Gerry spent the next few minutes describing what their approach and technique would be. His focus was very technical in nature as he went through their plan. She supposed staying technical was his job, but it left a bit to be desired on the actual probability of finding Peter.

At least it was a plan. During the course of the night, there had been enough going on that she barely thought of anything except what next steps they could pursue. Now they actually had next steps.

She was now anxious to reach that prescribed mission time so that they could be that additional step closer to getting back in contact with her superior.

After the technical overview was completed, she had then offered to accompany Gerry and his team on the mission. Hughes had initially nodded at that, and she felt almost hopeful, but Gerry had disagreed. They had limited real estate within their helicopter. He described that the extra space they did have beyond that for Gerry and his team could only be allotted to a medic and then Peter and Neal themselves.

Diane remained quiet after that as well. Again, not something she could argue. Facts were facts.

She felt in limbo after that, as she was left alone in the conference room. Hughes retreated to his office behind closed doors, with strict instructions to notify him of even the smallest update, and Gerry disappeared to prep his team.

So she sat, alone, reviewing her case notes with an effort to try to figure out what they might have missed – what else was going on– while impatiently watching the clock.

Occasionally, fatigue was setting in. The caffeine was wearing off.

Her eyes closed briefly at one point, and she caught herself, sitting up straighter and shaking her head. She knew she was long overdue to rest, but was resolute not to consider a period of repose until they had an update on Peter.

"There's movement."

The statement from behind her caught her off guard, and she jumped in her chair. She turned with an unintentional glare at the carrier of the message – Jones.

"Shit, Jones," she said. "You just scared the crap out of me." She was somewhat thankful – her pulse was racing now, and she felt akin to having a kick of caffeine. That scare had at least jolted some lucidity into her veins, and she felt more awake.

"Sorry," he offered with a small apologetic smile. "Thought you'd want to know there was movement."

"Movement where?" Diana asked, turning further in her chair to face him.

"It's not very material movement," Jones started with a small shrug, "but it's there. And it's the first time there's been enough movement to be noticeable on the radar."

"So the tracker is on the move."

"Yes." Jones paused. "I saw what you did there… The tracker," he repeated. "There a reason you're referring to the tracker specifically, and not to Peter or Neal?"

She nodded, sighing slightly. "Well, the only thing we know for certain is that the actual tracker is moving," she replied, a bit stiffly. She felt herself channeling the technical depictions of Gerry. "We don't know which one of them, or who else, might have it."

Jones frowned. "I get what you're saying… But, Diana, we're using that tracker as the means to find Peter. So we better hope he has it, or is nearby."

"Oh, trust me," she replied, "I hope more than anyone that that's the reality, Jones. But this whole case has given me a strange feeling."

"Yeah," he responded. He sighed as well. "Unfortunately I know what you mean."

Head pounding from a migraine that had returned with a vengeance, Peter kept his eyes locked on Dean as they moved swiftly through the monotonous hallways. Despite his continued compliance, he didn't trust the man or his plan, and he was keen not to let him disappear or surprise them in any way. Still, he occasionally glanced beside – and sometimes behind – himself to make sure that Neal was keeping up and not slowing down. He had a sense Neal was feigning a stronger outward appearance than he was actually feeling.

Anxiety consumed his thought process as his adrenaline compensated for his own fatigue and injuries. His head still pounded – it never had stopped – but he now barely noticed any more. His earlier conversation with Dean replayed itself in his mind. Each moment that passed seemed to introduce more at stake.

His primary focus was damage control and preventing anyone else from getting hurt. The threat of leaving Neal behind had been too real. It was fortunate, and somewhat unnerving, that Dean had relatively easily agreed to release him as well. But the information that Dean had shared showed without a doubt that he was tracking them. He couldn't allow the rest of the team to be in harm's way. And he couldn't let this get anywhere close to putting Elizabeth at risk.

Dean's reminder that he'd been watching them filled Peter with a sense of dread.

His immediate instinct was to do what he could to protect her as his first and foremost priority. But it wouldn't be that easy.

Dean had made it clear. They had to pretend like everything was normal. Any straying from natural course, and he would intervene. He had specifically outlined what that meant for him and Elizabeth. No going into hiding. No sudden 'out of town trips.' No surveillance on his home. No added protection for Elizabeth.

Any of of those things, or even the suspicion of it, would set Dean off. There would be 'consequences' as he put it.

He glanced again over at Neal. Despite the stony look on his face, prominent even despite the disheveled hair and dirty appearance, he could tell Neal was in pain. Peter didn't feel too great himself, but Neal's gait, while in line with Peter's, was strained. He wasn't sure what had happened behind closed doors, and Dean's comments had been vague.

"You keeping up?" he asked, phrasing his 'are you okay' in a slightly different way, knowing the other verbiage wasn't garnering anything other than sarcastic responses.

"No, Peter," Neal replied dryly, "you lost me around the last corner." He rolled his eyes. "What kind of question is that? Do you not see me right here?"

So much for avoiding sarcasm.

"I don't know how much further he's going," Peter admitted. He recognized Neal's frustration, and felt the same way. He also realized Neal also didn't have the whole picture yet. He didn't fully understand why this was the only choice they had. Why they were leaving.

"So long as we're not about to run a marathon, I'll make it," Neal answered, replying to Peter's unvoiced question. "How about you?"

"Same."

"And you're sure he's … letting us go?" Neal asked skeptically. As they rounded another corner, the question became increasingly relevant. "This is strange, Peter."

"The last twenty-four hours have been strange," Peter acknowledged. He noticed up ahead that Dean was turning to glance at them fairly frequently. Perhaps he could hear them talking. Maybe he felt they were planning something of their own. "He has your tracking device, Neal. Do you know that?"

Neal didn't answer immediately. He then cleared his throat and responded, "He found it." Then a moment and several steps ahead later, he added. "I dropped it. I tried to kick it aside, but he saw. I'm sorry. I–"

"It's fine," Peter interjected. "It doesn't matter now."

"But is that why he's doing this?" Neal asked. "Why we're moving?"

"It's more than that." Peter was pretty sure that was the case at least. Certainly Dean knew that the tracking device would allow the FBI to find them more readily, but it was also far more complicated than that.

"Because he knows someone might be coming?" Neal persisted.

"Someone is coming, Neal," Peter replied rigidly.

Neal let out an exhausted breath. "You keeping saying that, Peter… but he could be bringing us anywhere. Deeper and deeper into some kind of labyrinth and the more we get underground we–"

Suddenly, Neal stopped. It was abrupt, but in a flash he ceased both talking and walking. His eyes were fixated down the hall.

Peter stopped as well, concerned by the look in Neal's eye. He then turned to face forward. Up ahead of them, Dean had also stopped and was fully facing them.

"You think he heard me," Neal muttered under his breath to Peter. His tone was a bit troubled.

Peter didn't respond. He somehow doubted that Neal's comments were the reason that Dean had stopped. But now that Dean had stopped, they remained in place, keeping their distance of roughly fifteen feet.

It felt a bit like a standoff.

"We're here," Dean spoke first.

Peter frowned as he looked ahead of them, first at the hallway between them and Dean and then beyond him, down the hallway that extended into the distance. This place truly was enormous and like a maze. He then glanced behind them, at the stretch of halls they'd already left behind. He wasn't even sure if given the chance that he could trace his way back to where they'd come from.

"What's the matter?" Dean continued. "Thought you wanted to leave, Peter?"

"To where, Dean?" Peter replied. "It doesn't quite look like an exit." This was reminiscent of their arrival to the bunker from above ground. They had 'arrived' then as well, unbeknownst to them. The door was simply hidden.

"Ah, an exit," Dean responded, nodded. "Like an exit sign, Peter? You need something with bright red letters spelling it out for you? I forgot I need to spell everything out for you agents." He paused and then smirked. "Or agent, rather. Well, in any case, let me make this as easy as possible for you." He reached out beside him, hand brushing against the wall. It took him just a brief moment to locate a handle that had been previously invisible, camouflaged.

He pulled that door open. It creaked and groaned as it moved, appearing heavy. "Here you go."

Peter and Neal both looked at the newly open doorway.

While it still didn't appear to be an appealing or obvious exit, it was an entry to somewhere.

"This is also as far as I go," Dean told them. "At the end of this hall, you'll find your true exit."

Peter once again wanted to question 'to where' but didn't. The truth was that he was second guessing this whole plan and his conversation with Dean, and he was afraid to voice anything that might give that away. This plan to just 'let them go' didn't sit well with him. He did not want to remain inside this facility, but at the same time, Dean seemed too confident to let them go. Their safety on the outside was not guaranteed.

"What are you waiting for?" Dean persisted. "Like I said, the clock is ticking." He gestured them forward.

"Come on, Neal," Peter said softly. He started to walk towards Dean. Toward the door.

"I don't like this," Neal muttered.

"I know," Peter acknowledged under his breath. "Trust me I know."

As they approached, Dean continued to have a smug look on his face. He distanced himself slightly from the open door with a few steps back and watched them expectantly.

Once close enough, Peter glanced through the doorway. It lead to yet another hallway, though this one appeared a bit shabbier and darker than the rest. It curved so that the end of the hall wasn't visible.

Not very welcoming.

Not very promising.

"Oh, and, Peter," Dean spoke. "You'll need this."

Peter turned his head in time to see Dean toss something his way. He caught it.

Neal's tracking device.

"The rest of your things are at the end of this hall," Dean continued. "I suggest you go now… And I trust I don't need to repeat any of our agreement."

They had no choice, Peter reminded himself. They had no chance of another outcome in here. Even two against one, they were severely disadvantaged. Unarmed, and unfamiliar with this maze of hallways. Challenging Dean's directions would be futile since they had no other alternative.

Despite all this, he felt the need to continue to convince himself of this over and over again.

"Let's go, Neal," he spoke. He knew Neal was reluctant as well. He glanced sideways at his CI only briefly before he started to walk through the doorway.

"Until we meet again," Dean said.

And so they walked. Uneager despite so-called freedom just around the corner.

Neal and Peter had only just passed through the new passageway when the door behind them closed with a solid clank. They both turned at the sound of it closing. Even from this side, it was once again nearly impossible to see that there had been a door.

"Peter, what the hell?" Neal demanded. "Is this real?"

Peter reached out and touched the wall from where they'd come from, looking for a seam. It was there, barely visible to the eye. "We've got to keep walking." He turned back to Neal. "Can you keep walking?"

"To where? This still feels like a trap, Peter…."

Peter glanced down at Neal's still cuffed hands, taking in once again his disheveled appearance. Neal had a pained look on his face and didn't even seem to be bothering to hide it. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yes," Neal replied stiffly.

"Good." Peter pushed the tracking device he held back into Neal's bound hands. "Here. They're going to locate us."

"So you don't think it's a trap?"

"Let's go."

"You didn't answer," Neal accused as his handler began to walk away. Neal looked at the device in his hands with a sigh, but then followed Peter on his early approach down the new hallway. Peter seemed to have a purpose in his step. It was darker in here than the other hall.

"Peter," Neal tried again.

"What." Peter kept walking but acknowledged the question.

"What agreement was he referring to?" Neal asked. "What did you agree to?"

Peter glanced Neal's way now and shook his head. "He's watching us, Neal," he replied. "It doesn't end when we get out of here."

"Are we actually getting out of here?" Neal responded. "It seems like one random passageway to another, Peter." As they turned with the curve of the hallway, continuing in the only direction available, he could see a literal light at the end of the tunnel.

"We are getting out," Peter replied firmly. "But it's not as easy as it sounds."

"This is easy?" Neal responded skeptically.

"You've got to listen to me, Neal. We are getting out of here, because I know they're tracking you right now. And when they come, one thing is very important: You don't mention Dean."

"What?" Neal frowned.

"Dean doesn't exist."

"What do you mean he doesn't exist?" Neal asked incredulously. "Is that what you agreed to?"

"Not exactly," Peter responded. The hallway was changing. It was evolving into feel more like …. a cavelike space? It was suddenly damper, and the walls and floors seemed more akin to a hollowed up dirt space than any sort of formal structure. Even the air had more of an earthy smell. "He still wants Samantha."

"And you agreed to that?"

"We have three days to find her," Peter replied said.

"Three days? Why three days?" Neal asked.

"I don't know why, Neal. It's better than one, isn't it?"

"It's not really making sense, Peter. Why he's letting us go if he still wants to find her?"

"Because he knows I can do that more readily on the outside. While the Bureau doesn't think we're being compromised."

Neal's brow furrowed further.

"I know, I know," Peter replied. He sighed, noting Neal's exasperated look. "I know it doesn't make sense right now, Neal. But you need to trust me. Dean doesn't exist."

"Hey, I think this is actually leading back to outside," Neal said, voice sounding a little bit more optimistic.

Peter focused ahead of them again and noted the same. In the near distance it seemed like they were at the entrance to a cavern, with trees in the near distance. It was dark out, but appeared almost to be nearly dusk.

"How'd we get above ground?" Neal asked. "Did you notice the gradient change?"

"No," Peter admitted. He was relieved to see a true exit from the underground captivity they'd been held in, but that feeling wasn't enough to outweigh the overall sense of uneasiness he felt.

"It must have been gradual…" Neal noted. "Hey, look."

Peter paused and followed his eyes towards where Neal was pointing.

Just up ahead of them on the ground were both their pairs of shoes. The shoes they had removed at Dean's request upon originally arriving to his bunker.

These were the 'belongings' that Dean had referred to.

Neal was moving towards the shoes first. As he reached them, he balanced himself and crouched down onto his haunches, wincing as he did so. He then seemed perplexed. "How'd he do that? How'd he move this stuff here? It was back in the other room."

Peter approached Neal without an answer. He noticed his service weapon was tucked into his pair of shoes just as Neal was reaching for it. "Neal," he objected, nervous to see his CI's hand reaching for a gun.

Neal already had the gun in his hand before Peter finished saying his name, but turned it and handed it to Peter handle first before the man could say anything else.

Peter couldn't say whether or not he was pleased to have his weapon back. He was a bit daunted and ashamed that he hadn't even thought to ask for it back as he was following the next steps that Dean had outlined for them blindly. Leaving his service weapon behind would have been a big inconvenience, not to mention something else that Dean could have tried to barter with him about.

His head ached further. He blamed his migraine for the severe oversight.

He watched Neal, now sitting on the ground, struggling with this shoes. He'd dropped the tracking device to the ground beside him.

"You couldn't slip those off?" Peter asked, nodding to the cuffs that obstructed Neal's movement.

Neal shook his head. "Too tight," he replied, grunting a bit. He managed to maneuver one shoe onto a foot.

"I've never seen you keep cuffs on for that long." Peter busied himself to get his own shoes on, leaning down to push his wet, sock clad feet into the one closest to him.

"Well, what can I say…" Neal replied in a disgruntled mutter.

"Figured you'd find some kind of tool like you usually do."

"Where was I supposed to find—" Neal cut himself off, frowning. "A tool…" As Neal echoed the word, he cursed and suddenly appeared irritated.

"What's the matter?" Peter replied, sliding the second shoe on quicker than the first.

"Nothing," Neal answered irritably. Managing to get his shoes on, he was now digging his fingers into his front pocket.

Peter watched him skeptically, glancing briefly back behind them, where they had come from, as though someone else might appear from the cave. Neal pulled a pen out of his pocket and let it drop to the floor. Next his fingers were pulling out something else, hard to see.

It was small and shiny.

A paperclip.

"Wait a minute," Peter began, "you had that the whole-"

"Shut up, Peter," Neal replied. He sounded frustrated and troubled. His fingers were at work, deploying the paperclip to his own devices, focused in on the handcuffs. His hair had fallen into his eyes and he cursed again, reaching awkwardly to try to clear his vision from the unruly strands.

"You need help?"

"No," came the curt response. "I can do it. I should have done it."

Peter watched him, realizing Neal wasn't quite 'Neal.' His usually dextrous fingers were not quite as graceful now. His fingers seemed to move clumsily. His hands were visibly shaking.

"You sure?"

"I've got it," Neal replied adamantly, voice sharp.

And he did. It only took a few more seconds, and the handcuffs broke free. Neal pulled them off his wrists in a disgruntled, almost violent movement and then chucked them behind him, towards where they had come from. They landed with a metallic thud.

Peter stepped forward and offered a hand down to Neal. Without a word, Neal accepted it and allowed the assistance in returning to his feet.

"You're good?" Peter asked, eyeing him carefully. He knew they had to keep moving but studied his CI's expression.

"You're the one with the concussion, remember?" Neal replied back as he futilely brushed dirt off his pants. "You barely made it out of the helicopter."

Peter refrained from pushing Neal further on the question. "Then let's go," Peter responded. They would have plenty of time later (hopefully) to assess their physical state. "Get the tracker, and let's get back to the woods."