Notes: Just a quick note to sincerely thank anyone who's reading / has made it this far into another story that has grown beyond what I expected. These characters just take on a life of their own. Your comments have really kept me going, and I appreciate it. Thank you.

"Now it begins," Neal echoed Peter's words. He shivered as his fingers clenched the dark t-shirt that Peter had just tossed to him. He could now suddenly feel cold water dripping down the back of his neck from his hair and was anxious to get dressed. "Do you realize you sound like him?"

"Sound like who?" Peter asked distractedly. He was crouched down, pulling open another drawer of his dresser.

"Him," Neal repeated with more emphasis on the word. It seemed quite obvious, but when Peter didn't respond, he clarified. "Dean," he said stiffly. "So we beginwas what he said."

Peter didn't react.

"Remember?" Neal persisted, staring at Peter's back. He shivered again.

"I don't specifically remember him saying that, Neal," Peter admitted, glancing towards the doorway at Neal only briefly. He pulled out a pair of khaki pants. "These are draw string. Does that work?"

Neal eyed the beige clothing indifferently. "Anything works, Peter. I'm cold." He looked beyond Peter to the rest of the room. The other drawers, the nightstand, the closet. By just a few minutes, he had missed his own opportunity to snoop with an acceptable alibi. He wondered if Peter kept anything interesting in here. Now he'd never know. He hadn't even stepped foot into the room since Peter had arrived. It felt forbidden and so he'd remained in the doorway.

Peter rose from his crouched position with a wince, clearly feeling the effort, and walked back over to Neal to offer the clothing. "Here. I'm going to shower. Then we can go."

Neal accepted the clothes. "Go where?"

"The office."

"Already?"

"Already," Peter affirmed. He studied Neal's reaction, trying to discern it. "We have no time to waste, Neal. He gave me three days. I know you're tired, but—"

"No, no, I'm not," Neal objected. It wasn't true, but the lie was a reflex. He was tired. Exhausted. And sore. So, so sore. He knew Peter had to be feeling the same way. "What did you tell Elizabeth?" he asked.

Peter pressed his lips together, quiet at first. Then he simply said, "I told her as much as I could." He began to move past Neal into the hallway. "And that it's complicated. I also asked her to come with us to the office."

Neal frowned as he stepped out of the way, watching Peter head towards the bathroom. "Won't that seem odd?"

"I really don't care how it seems, Neal."

Neal's frown deepened. Peter's previous instructions stressed the importance of 'acting normal' when they returned. Neal wasn't sure arriving to the office with Peter's wife in tow qualified as normal. He didn't think he'd ever even seen Elizabeth at the office more than once in his few months of working with Peter. But never mind what people at the office saw or thought – what about Dean himself?

Peter had already disappeared into the bathroom out of sight, though he had also kept the door open. It was as though he suspected that Neal wasn't done with his questions.

He wasn't.

"Do you think he's already watching us?" Neal asked the open doorway. He lowered his own voice to barely above a whisper as he asked the question. "Even listening?"

Peter stepped back out of the bathroom and stood there, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. He cast Neal a dubious look.

Neal just stared back at him. He clutched the clothes against his chest a little tighter, shivering again. "I can have Mozzie check," he proposed, giving a sincere look. "If you just give us-"

"No," Peter interjected, shaking his head. He pulled the toothbrush out of his mouth. "Absolutely not."

It was Neal's turn to look doubtful. "But, Peter-"

"But nothing. No," Peter responded more firmly. "I already told you. I don't want Mozzie involved. Don't mention it again, Neal."

Neal naturally opened his mouth to object once more, but then quickly pressed his lips back together when he saw Peter's warning look. Another shiver ran through him. He didn't know if this one was again due to his state of dress, or the now reproachful look that Peter was giving him. He suddenly felt vulnerable to have only a towel wrapped around him.

"You're cold," Peter told him. He pointed at the guest bedroom with his toothbrush. "Get dressed and then go downstairs. Elizabeth's worried about you."

Neal frowned. He stared back at Peter, reconsidering a response. He wanted to remind Peter how discreet Mozzie could be. How he could help.

"Do I need to tell you again?" Peter persisted, voice growing in volume and frustration. He took just the slightest step towards Neal.

"No, Peter," Neal answered, backing down. He kept his objections to himself and lowered his eyes.

Peter didn't say anything else. He simply turned back again to disappear into the bathroom. This time the door closed deliberately behind him with a thud, lock clicking into place.

Elizabeth was sitting at her kitchen table with a heavy mind, staring into her half full cup of coffee as she stirred a spoon through the liquid, creating a miniature whirlpool within the mug. Watching the circular flow of the liquid was almost soothing, but it did little to quell the anxiety she currently felt after Peter had confided in her what had happened during the last twenty-four hours.

She wasn't even certain she had the full story, but the worry she had felt earlier regarding Peter's unknown location was now completely surpassed by a new sense of fear.

Despite her instinctual feeling that Peter hadn't shared everything before he went upstairs, insisting he had to go up to check on Neal, she hadn't pressed him. After all, she had barely had a chance to process the current information before even considering pushing for more.

Ironically it wasn't the first time she had heard of Dean. Peter had spoken of him before, particularly regarding the case that the estranged man now seemed to be trying to resurrect.

The details she had were limited. When he had mentioned the case those years before, it was clearly one that haunted him.

She now wished she had asked him more about it back then.

She continued to stir the coffee. Her spoon clinked against the ceramic of the mug. As she focused on the hot liquid, her mind filled with more and more questions.

She only looked up when she heard the sound of someone coming down the stairs.

She turned to view Neal returning to the first floor on his own.

He looked more presentable than earlier, in clean, unwrinkled clothing, washed hair slicked back and starting to curl at the edges. Still, despite the improvement in attire and cleanliness, he was clearly in need of rest. He lacked his usual sense of energy and charisma, a morose expression on his face. Elizabeth could tell his mind was just as busy as hers with uneasy thoughts.

Satchmo had been laying on the floor by the stairs and was now up and wagging his tail, thrilled to have the return of a friend yet again. He welcomed Neal with renewed enthusiasm.

Neal stopped there to acquiesce to the dog's request for attention, leaning down to scratch him behind his ears. He yawned widely as he did so.

Elizabeth observed, it not lost on her that Neal seemed to be in pain as he bent towards the dog.

"Satch," she called. "Leave him alone…. Neal, honey, you should know by now that he'll have you do that for hours if you're not careful."

Neal laughed gently at the comment. It seemed forced. He straightened his posture, giving the dog one last pat before he walked towards Elizabeth in the other room.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked, frowning as she scrutinized him. With his cleaned up appearance, some of the bruising was now more evident as he came closer. She eyed one painful looking area near his temple with particular concern. "And are you really okay?"

"I'm totally fine," Neal responded. It was the same reflexive, generic response that Peter had supplied as well when she had asked him the same question alone. Neal caught her discerning eye and shook his head. "Really, Elizabeth. Even the hospital said so." He added, "Don't judge a book by its cover."

"Hm," she mused, raising her eyebrows. "You mean you feel even worse than you look?"

"Touché." He gave her a small smile but then he broke eye contact, looking behind him towards the stairs he'd come down, as if he wasn't sure what to do next. "Uh, Peter's in the shower," he reported, as if it was news.

She nodded. "I know, Neal. Take it easy." She gestured towards the chair across from her at the table. "Sit with me." She specified the chair to him purposely. She'd seen Peter take the same approach with Neal, forcing him to be face-to-face where it was harder for him to avoid eye contact. Given the way he was already looking anywhere else in the room except at her, she thought she'd give it a try.

Neal acquiesced, moving to the table and slowly sitting in the designated chair. He eyed the coffee cup in front of her and then the abandoned one at the seat beside her, which had been Peter's coffee. That cup was empty. Beside that cup were some papers.

"Do you want some coffee?" she offered.

"No, thank you," he declined politely. He shifted in the chair, trying to find a comfortable position as he looked towards the window. Despite his refusal of the caffeine, he then noticeably yawned.

"I can also make you tea," she persisted. "Or something else?"

"No, I'm good," he answered, a little too mechanically. He seemed to realize it himself after the words came out. He paused briefly but then looked back across the table at her to give a genuine smile. "Really. I am. Thank you, Elizabeth."

"You're tired," she noted. "Do you want to rest?"

He stifled another yawn. "I'm fi-"

"Don't say you're fine," she interrupted, giving him a knowing look. "You're allowed to be tired, Neal."

He shrugged, shaking his head just slightly. "I just don't think we have time to rest just yet," he admitted.

"Peter told me what happened," she began. "Well, at least what he could fit into ten minutes." She sighed. "To be honest, I'm not even sure what to say… It's a miracle you guys are okay." She eyed the bruises on the side of his face again. "I had no idea this trip had even a remote chance of being dangerous…" She reached over beyond Peter's coffee cup to where there were some papers.

"I was looking at these discharge papers," she said. "There's some prescriptions here. Pain medication. Do you want us to fill this for you?"

Neal stared at the papers she held in her hand for a moment, frowning at them as he processed her words. He then shook his head dismissively. "That's probably for Peter…" he replied. "I don't know if he told you, but he hit his head pretty hard… Concussion.… And his ribs…"

She frowned at that. Peter had not specifically mentioned the extent of his own injuries. She would address that with him later. For now she focused on Neal. She gestured at the papers skeptically. "And the one that has your name on it? That's for Peter too?"

Neal frowned more deeply at that revelation, but he was again quick to dismiss it. "Hospitals are too quick to write prescriptions nowadays," Neal persisted. "They didn't even ask me. No wonder there's an opiod crisis."

"Neal," she objected, tone a bit chiding. "You sure? I can tell you're banged up."

"I'm sure." At her persistent look, he exhaled and shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I don't need it." He rested his hands on the table in front of him. "And even if I did, I don't like to take that kind of stuff," he continued. "That kind of medication… It can mess with your head. I'm fine."

She looked down at his hands, observing his wrists. They were marked with painful-looking, red ligature marks.

He noticed the shift in her attention, and, identifying the root cause of that when looking down at his own hands, he muttered a curse under his breath and immediately slipped his hands off the table, back onto his lap out of sight. He shifted back in his chair, clearly uneasy and self-conscious.

"I'm fine," he repeated, telling her this even though she hadn't asked. "Peter's the one you should be worried about. He really did hit his head pretty hard. Was out of it for a little while. At one point I couldn't get him to wake up." He stared at the surface of the dining table as he said all this, but then briefly looked up and caught her eye. She looked deeply concerned, which caused him to then look away again. "You know what? I will take some coffee. And can you please not tell Peter I said any of that?"

She studied him for a brief moment, noting the look of anxiety and regret that flashed over his face. He continued to stare at the surface of the table. So much for eye contact, she thought wryly, pushing back her chair to rise to her feet. At the moment, she chose not to ask anything further, but couldn't help but frown as she turned her back to him to head towards the kitchen.

Peter's summary of events had been very … factual. Like he was making a formal report. It kept to the tactical details only. His description of the crash had been like he was a third party observer. He had mentioned the fatality of the pilot, but had glossed over any mention of their own individual experience or injuries. Similarly, in the description of where they had been taken, he had focused less on what had happened, and more on what Dean wanted of them.

As she poured coffee into another mug, she discreetly kept an eye on Neal, who remained within her vantage-point. Clearly there was more going on than either Peter or Neal had alluded to. Elizabeth hadn't known Neal very long, but his demeanor this morning was not his usual confident, gregarious self. He was somber and distracted. When he had spoken, he had done so in a way that made her feel his mind was on something else, and not the current conversation. At the moment, his focus was out the window, a pensive expression on his face.

He seemed nervous. She had never seen him like this.

She walked back with the mug. She caught him glance briefly her way before turning his attention back to the window again.

"Do you want milk or cream?" she asked.

"Black is fine," he answered. "Thank you."

She placed the mug on the table in front of him and then returned to her seat across the table.

She let a moment pass. Neither said a word. The coffee cup sat untouched.

She stirred the spoon in her own coffee. Then finally she said, "I'm not going to keep asking, Neal. I know you'll tell me you're fine, but-"

"Because I am," he stated.

"But if you want to talk," she continued, ignoring his interruption, "or if you need anything, you can let me know."

"Alright," he said to the table.

"Or let Peter know," she persisted. "He may be too oblivious to ask you, but it doesn't mean he won't help."

He frowned and cupped his hands around the mug for a moment. The posture held for just a few seconds until he then suddenly released the mug, withdrawing his hands from sight again. "Help with what?"

She shrugged and shook her head. "Whatever it might be," she said vaguely. "You've been through quite an ordeal. Both of you have. Whether you realize it yet or not." Then, watching him for another moment, she added, "Drink the coffee, Neal. I saw your wrists already. You don't have to hide them."

Neal looked up, meeting her eyes once again. This time he held the eye contact. "The cuffs were too tight to slip off," he told her.

She nodded, as though the comment was commonplace. "I'm sorry there were cuffs," she said softly.

He shook his head. "Nah, it's my fault. I could have gotten them off so much sooner," he continued. "I was just… Not thinking. I had everything I needed, and I didn't even realize it." He trailed off as his hands emerged to reach for his coffee, and he smiled ruefully. "I have no idea why I'm telling you any of that." He cleared his throat. "So, uh, Peter said you're coming to the office with us?"

It was clearly a desire to change the topic of conversation. Elizabeth yearned to know more about what had happened, to know so she could somehow help, but she also didn't want to push him too hard.

"He would like me to," Elizabeth responded. "We didn't really talk about it much before he went up to check on you."

Neal nodded, swallowing a gulp of coffee. "It's probably better," he replied. "If you come. I mean, Peter will feel better."

She paused. "Do you think we're in danger, Neal? Peter didn't say that, not exactly, but … I'm reading between the lines here."

Neal sighed, his eyes shifting over to look towards the stairs on the other side of the house as though waiting for the other man to reappear. "I don't really know," he admitted. He cleared his throat again as he turned his attention back to her. "Probably better to talk about it at the office, you know?"

She gave him a bit of a quizzical look but nodded. What more weren't they telling her?

Neal took another sip of coffee. "Do you know where Peter put my phone?" he asked.

"He plugged it in over in the kitchen," Elizabeth told him. "The charger is by the stove. That reminds me; I think we have a spare phone that Peter could probably get working again…"

It took a lot of effort for Peter to take only the necessary time in the shower and not a heck of a lot longer. He could now recognize why Neal had been up here as long as he had been. Despite this, there was no time for luxuries or leisure. As soon as he felt he had gotten off the grime and dirt adequately, he ended the shower and quickly moved to get dressed.

There was no time to waste. It was ironic, since he didn't know exactly what his next steps would be, only that he had to find them and execute quickly.

When he returned downstairs, he was ready to go. He was hoping to find Elizabeth and Neal ready as well.

He found Elizabeth alone at his dining table.

"Where is he?" he asked her.

She nodded towards the kitchen.

Peter turned towards the kitchen, where he could see Neal leaning over the counter, elbows resting on its surface, cell phone in hand. He was fully immersed in typing something.

"Are you sure you want to go to the office so soon?" Elizabeth asked.

He turned at his wife's question, studying her. She was frowning at him. "Huh?"

"The office, Peter. Do you really need to head there so soon? I think you both should rest a bit first," she persisted. "I'm sure Hughes would understand. You were just in an accident. You realize that, right?"

"It's not Hughes I'm worried about," Peter replied, ignoring her question while shaking his head. "I told you, Hon. We don't have much time. You don't know who we're dealing with here."

"You said you had a few days. What's a few hours?" she replied.

"Unfortunately I need those hours," he answered.

"Maybe he does too," Elizabeth responded, tilting her head towards Neal in the kitchen. She lowered her voice. "Did you ask him how he is?"

"Neal?" Peter asked. "He's fine," he replied dismissively. "We've got to go." He moved towards the kitchen, a little surprised that the conversation hadn't caused Neal to look up from the phone. Neal usually had an uncanny sense of when people were talking about him. He approached and frowned as Neal remained in the prone position against the counter.

"Neal," he said, standing just a couple feet away.

Neal's fingers tapped a few more times against his phone, but then he placed it down. The charging cord was still connected. He pushed himself up from the counter to stand up straighter. "You want to go now?" Neal asked.

"Yes," Peter affirmed. He nodded towards the phone. "Who you talking to?"

"No one."

"No one?" Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Just checking messages," Neal replied elusively. He leaned back to shift his weight against the counter. "Peter," he began. "Could I get another shirt?" he asked. "With sleeves?"

"You still cold?" Peter replied. He gestured towards the other room. "Then go," he said. "Take what you want. But hurry up. We have to go."

Neal left the kitchen, and Peter couldn't help but be drawn to the charging cell phone. He reached for it, just as soon as Elizabeth spoke up.

"He isn't cold," she said.

"He is," Peter responded. He pressed a button on the phone, but found the screen locked. Of course it was locked. He wondered at who Neal was talking to. Probably Mozzie. Damn Mozzie. "He's been shaking." He turned back around to Elizabeth, noticing her critical expression.

"What?" he asked, frowning.

"Wouldn't kill you to take a minute to see how you're both doing," she told him.

"I don't have a minute," he replied. "Hon, I know where you're going with this. We'll rest later today. We just need to get to the office and start to address next steps. And I'd feel much better if we all stick together to do that."

Her look grew more skeptical.

Before they could respond, Neal was coming back down the stairs. He'd layered a button down shirt over the t-shirt and was fastening the last button as he walked.

"Neal's ready. Let's go," Peter said.

TBC