"So let me get this straight…" Hughes began, brow creasing as his skepticism heightened after following the words of his agent.

Peter sighed, taking a few pacing steps across his supervisor's office. When he first reentered the room, Hughes had gestured towards the chair in front of his desk with the unspoken invitation or direction to sit. During the course of normal practice, on any other day, it would be Peter's standard place to sit during a conversation with the senior agent. But now Peter preferred to remain standing. It was an unusual conversation, and somehow continuing to move helped to quell the anxiety.

At least, that's what he told himself.

"I know it sounds crazy," Peter acknowledged before the other man could paraphrase what he'd just told him.

"You know what it sounds like, Peter? It sounds like exhaustion," Hughes responded.

"I'm not exhausted," Peter told him with a pointed look, shaking his head. "I'm actually finally putting the pieces together, Sir."

"Peter…"

Peter sighed, continuing to pace. He paused as he reached the window, looking at at the skyline pensively. He then slowly turned, giving his boss a quizzical look. "When you spoke to her, by any chance did you speak about Neal? In any capacity?"

Hughes looked exasperated, but sighed and allowed the question. "Peter, my conversation with Samantha was only about her desire to help with this case, and her interest in her family's estate."

"Nothing about Neal?"

Hughes sighed yet again. "Why in God's name would I talk about him with her?" he asked, shaking his head. "Or at all for that matter?"

"Did anyone else speak to her?"

"In general, or specifically about him?" Hughes persisted. "And, Peter... did you really come into my office to interrogate me right now?"

"I'm sorry, Sir. But she knew his name. And that's got me thinking there could be something else going on here, because it doesn't make sense how she would know about him."

"Something else going on? Get it together. It's likely you spoke to her about him. You're preoccupied that he's off the grid."

"I'm confident I didn't mention him by name."

Hughes paused, studying his agent while taking a deep breath. "Peter, I stand by my words from earlier. You need to step away from this. I'm not talking about this further with you."

"Sir—"

"Peter, whatever your plan is with Samantha, let your team handle it. This has gone too far already. If you want to keep Elizabeth safe, the best thing you can do is step aside and let us handle it. Take the time, let us find him, and then you can come back when you're ready."

"With all due respect, Sir, he's going to look to me to finish this."

Hughes looked skeptical. "Is that so… And how, Peter, pray tell, would he even know whether or not it's you or your team?"

"He's watching, Sir. We know that. If I go, and just sit at home..."

"So did he just watch her walk in here, to a federal office?"

"It's possible," Peter acknowledged. His brow furrowed, frustration increasing. He could see the reservation on his superior's face.

"So if he's watching, he just saw her walk in. What does he need you for?" Hughes challenged. "He could follow her right now to her hotel."

Peter swallowed, digesting that thought. That was certainly a possibility. He glanced towards the door.

"I'm being purposefully antagonistic, Peter," Hughes said gruffly. "Don't get any ideas."

"But you're right, Sir…"

"Let me remind you that she's got a full security detail on her, Peter," Hughes pointed out. "All of the necessary precautions have been taken. And I know for a fact she came into the building through the back, near the loading dock, and not the front entrance, specifically to keep her presence unknown. It's unlikely he saw her, even if he had eyes on the building."

"I know," Peter agreed. "But his ability to get information…"

"What about that first witness?" Hughes asked. He waved his hand in the air, as though searching for the facts. "The one that supplied those addresses to you and your team. What about him?"

"He's apparently not saying a word," Peter replied, raising his hand to rub at the back of his neck. He walked towards the window again. "He's clammed up since we last interrogated him. Only wants to speak to his lawyer."

"He's got charges against him?"

Peter nodded, distracted. "Yeah. He's going to do some time. I just don't know what his connection to Dean was… Why he'd be willing to make a trade-off like that for him..."

Hughes eyed him, watching him gaze out the window. "You are too close to this," he said firmly. "You need to step away. And before you object, I want you to at the least take the day."

Peter turned, brow furrowing. "Sir…" he objected.

"You can make phone calls, connect with your team, do whatever it is you need to do, but do what you need to do from there," Hughes told him. "I shouldn't even allow that, because from this point on, I'm considering you technically on leave."

"On leave?" Peter swallowed. Hughes had threatened it in their last conversation, but hearing it so formalized struck a different chord.

"Peter, this is hard enough." Hughes held up his hand, a signal that there was to be no further discussion. "Like I said, there's going to be a full investigation on this case, and I need to do what's best for the both of us."

Peter felt frustrated and conflicted. He knew where his boss was coming from, and knew that he would likely do the same if he were in the same position with any of his team. But it was hard to be on the receiving end of it, especially when so much was at stake.

He was about to say another word when the phone began to ring. He stayed silent, watching Hughes reach for the phone.

"Hughes," was the senior agent's gruff greeting to whomever was calling.

Meanwhile, while Peter waited patiently to allow the call's interruption, in his mind he was mulling over Hughes' words about what was best for them… and the mention of a full investigation… With each thought, the pit in his stomach grew larger.

If only he could go back in time.

Even to yesterday...

"Right… And?" Hughes was saying into the phone. He sounded impatient. Peter looked at him curiously, but his superior's eye contact was with his desk, with an expression that was shielded with a look of indifference.

Peter had no idea who was was speaking to.

And that also made him anxious.

"Mm-hmm…" Hughes continued, nodding. There was a long pause as he listened, and then suddenly the nodding stopped. His look of indifference turned to one of annoyance. "Right…. That's all you can do then. Thank you for letting me know."

And with that, he hung up the phone abruptly and with force.

Peter watched as Hughes leaned back in his chair with a long, audible sigh, tilting his head to gaze towards the ceiling.

"Sir?" Peter asked. He took a few steps forward towards the desk, reaching the pair of chairs that sat in front of the wide piece of furniture. He rested his hands on the back of the closest one. The chair he should have been sitting in rather than pacing.

Hughes worked his jaw, looking up at Peter. He seemed to be considering whether or not to respond.

"Who was it?" Peter asked slowly.

Hughes cleared his throat. "They located the tracker," he told him with an annoyed tone. His expression was impossible to read.

Peter felt his mouth go dry. At the same time his brows raised on their own. He slowly swallowed, searching for his voice. "Neal's tracker?" he asked, though it was an imbecile's question. What other tracker would they be talking about? Sleep deprivation was getting to him, he decided.

"That would be the one," came the curt response.

Peter wondered if Hughes was intentionally dragging this out. Perhaps it was bad news. Perhaps Neal was in custody. Perhaps something had gone wrong. Perhaps—

"Peter, he wasn't there," Hughes stated, voicing it before Peter's thoughts could reach a darker state.

"Sorry?" Peter managed. He was still processing the possibilities.

"I can see the look on your face," Hughes replied. "Neal wasn't there. They found the tracker, but they didn't find Neal."

Peter exhaled. Was it relief? Why would there be relief? It meant Neal was still missing. "So…" He paused, swallowing. "So where was it?"

"On the flatbed of a truck," Hughes replied dryly. "The driver was very confused when he was pulled over by the highway patrol and surrounded by federal agents..."

Peter frowned. "A truck. What kind of truck?"

"Does it matter?"

"Well…"

"You think Neal did that?"

Peter paused. "Do I think he... framed a truck driver?"

Hughes sighed, giving Peter a frustrated look. "Created a diversion, at the least, Peter. If he's not with the tracker, then what do you think – it fell off?"

"Sir, we knew it was tampered with," Peter responded. "I was skeptical whether he would still be in possession of it."

"So you're saying that you do think he ran."

"I didn't say that," Peter replied, slightly defensively. "I'm only saying the tracker was tampered with."

"Well, whether he removed it himself or someone else did it for him, Peter, the story is pretty much the same."

"If it was always so black and white, perhaps. But if –"

"No." Hughes waved his hand dismissively. "I'm not going to speculate with you," he persisted. He drummed his fingers against his desk, studying Peter with a solemn look. "We never should have waited this long. We're going to put out an APB. Going to notify all rail and air within a five state radius." He reached for his phone again, then paused with his hand hovering over the receiver. He looked up, frowning. "Go home, Peter."

"Now?"

"Now," Hughes answered. "I'm giving the order. I think it's best you go sooner rather than later." He paused and then added, "Peter, you know why. Put yourself in my position."

Peter shifted his weight, frowning. While he was hesitant to comply, objecting would only sound like he was being insubordinate. It wasn't that though – he felt a moral obligation to be involved. This was Neal. Yet at the same time, he knew that despite the gruffness, his boss was treating him with a courtesy and kindness that wouldn't have been extended to others in the same situation. A courtesy that probably had its limits.

"You'll call me if you get any updates," Peter began.

"Peter, if anyone locates Caffrey," Hughes replied, "you'll be the first on my list to notify. Now go."

Feeling disoriented in the bowels of the mysterious underground compound for the second time, Neal was feeling helpless.

"How exactly am I supposed to help you?" Neal asked. He watched in frustration as Dean walked away from him as he asked the question.

Feeling powerless, he pulled at his bound hands again.

How could he even negotiate with the man if he didn't know what he wanted?

He turned his head at an angle to look down once again at the needle in his arm with a cold sense of foreboding. Swallowing back a feeling of nausea, he then looked up at Dean again, watching him skulk around the desk in the corner of the room. That same desk where just days ago he had pulled up records to reacquaint Peter with the case from his past.

Why did that feel so long ago?

"Hey," he persisted loudly, after a moment passed and it became obvious that Dean didn't care to respond.

Dean slowly turned away from the desk, giving him an impatient look. "What?" he snapped.

"How am I supposed to help?" Neal repeated. He did his best to hide any indication that he was terrified. He kept his voice steady. "You haven't told me anything."

Dean leaned back against the desk, slowly sitting against it as he folded his arms over his chest. "I'll tell you when I'm ready to tell you."

"Well, whatever you think I'm going to do," Neal began, forcing the confidence, "I wouldn't be so sure."

Dean smirked. "Right," he said slowly, nodding. "Okay, Neal."

"I'm serious."

"I can see that," Dean replied, though his tone was condescending. "Though if I were you, I wouldn't be so quick to turn down the opportunity."

Frustrated, Neal made a face. "Opportunity?"

Dean simply smirked.

"What opportunity?" Neal persisted.

"In case you haven't figured it out, there's quite a bit of money to be made here. I didn't come back for nothing."

Neal tugged at his restraints again. "What kind of money?"

"Ah…" Dean raised his eyebrows, smirk spreading wider on his lips. "Is that finally some interest I hear?"

"No," Neal replied stiffly.

"No?" Dean answered. "I'm surprised."

Neal was silent, glaring.

"I know you've jumped at similar opportunities, Neal… I read up on you. And that's when I realized I'd heard about you before. You're actually quite the con artist. And pretty crafty. Not to mention you got away with most of it – considering what they actually got you on. And after how long a chase?"

Normally this is where Neal would offer a charming smile with a side of cockiness in being recognized for his achievements. This time, he merely felt like the walls were caving in on him. "Three years," he admitted monotonously as Dean looked at him expectantly.

"Three years… Quite a run. So you're elusive too," Dean replied. "And then only Peter could take you down. Gotta say, somewhat impressive. And the escape from the SuperMax? Well, that doesn't happen every day."

This was the most Dean had spoken to him. And Neal wasn't liking it one bit. "What's any of that have to do with our current situation?" he replied.

"Well, when you first offered to help me – I knew you were completely full of shit," Dean told him. "A pathetic attempt to con someone who could see right through you. But the reality is, you actually can help me. Even more than Peter can."

"I'm not helping you."

"Quit with the bullshit, Neal. Don't you get it? Whether you want to or not, you're going to."

Neal narrowed his eyes.

"I thought I needed Peter," Dean continued. "Little did I know Peter would have you. And you're going to make this easier than I ever expected."

"I won't do it."

Dean sighed, shaking his head. "Do you really think you have a choice? This isn't your plan, Neal. It's mine."

"They're going to find us," Neal told him, exasperated. "Why would we come back here anyway?" he persisted. "Don't you realize that they know where this is?"

"I know they don't," Dean replied back curtly. "They only know where they picked you up. Whatever else you told them, they still won't find this place. No one ever has, and I've made sure of that."

Neal's brow furrowed.

"You know I'm right," Dean continued. "Otherwise, they'd already be here. They had a team do an investigation on the crash site, and it ended there. They left hours ago. Whatever you told them, they're not going to find this place."

Neal had no reason to persist otherwise. Everything Dean was saying… It could be true. At the time he'd been working with Jones, they hadn't discovered much other than coordinates and little else…

What was Peter thinking right now?

Did he think he ran?

Would he realize that Dean was behind this?

Neal swallowed, trying to manage his thoughts. "Why did you ask Peter to look for Samantha if you already had her?" he asked.

"You're still not getting it, are you?" Dean replied. "I thought you were more intuitive than that, Neal."

"You're working with her," Neal stated. "I know. But after what happened–"

"What happened?" Dean challenged, narrowing his eyes. "Why don't you tell me what you think happened?"

Neal paused. Getting Dean agitated wasn't going to get him anywhere. At least now there was a conversation, even if he didn't like the way that it was going. "I don't know," he lied. He didn't know entirely, but he had a pretty good idea.

"Right. So then keep your goddamn mouth shut about Samantha, and the past. That's got nothing to do with what happens now."

Neal disagreed. It had everything to do with what was going on now. But what could he really say? He kept his mouth shut as instructed.

"Samatha's family was robbed," Dean persisted. "Twice. Once when they froze their assets and then again when they confiscated three generations' worth of collections."

Neal shifted his position on the ground. He aching wrists pained him as he again tried to twist them free. "What's that got to do with me?" he replied.

"I'm the only one that can help her get it all back. And you," Dean began as he stood up from the desk to his full height. "You're going to show me that you're truly capable of all those things I just read in your file." He walked towards Neal, looking at him with an intense stare. "And if you don't, you're never going to see the light of day."

Home as instructed.

Unwanted at the office.

Home in disbelief that it had been a direct order to leave the office and pretend as though he was on leave…

Pretend? Hughes had sat it was formal... Or technical. Whatever it was, it felt like a knife in his heart.

Peter felt useless sitting on his couch.

The middle of the day, in the middle of the case, with Neal missing in action.

What good was he here, sitting on his couch?

He kept his eye on his phone, as though that was the one potential solution. It kind of was. That was his only hope. To get a phone call that told him something. Whether it be Hughes, Mozzie, or Neal… Or he might have a revelation and be the one to make a phone call. But what revelation? No matter how hard he tried and replayed everything in his head, no solutions were presenting themselves.

The TV in front of him was distracting. It played an old slapstick comedy, care of Elizabeth, who sat beside him, equally nervous, but quiet. Peter could care less about television at this point, though he agreed a silent house was probably less than ideal as well.

"He wouldn't be armed," he said suddenly.

Elizabeth turned her head, brow furrowing. "What?"

"Neal," he said. "He wouldn't be armed."

"Of course not…" she said slowly. "You said he hates guns."

"He does," Peter affirmed. "But… I'm not the one looking for him."

"Peter," she began. "Reese said he would call."

"Call," he scoffed. "Right. He's not going to be able to press pause on the situation to call me," Peter told her, a little more curtly than he intended.

"No one's intention is to hurt him," she persisted. "Just to find him."

"To them, he's a fugitive. On the run."

She made a face. "Hon…"

"That's all he is to them," he said firmly. "Don't tell me they'll consider all scenarios, El. You know how this works. We've been down this road before. Except that time, the last time, it was me looking for him."

"Don't think the worst."

"I'm not trying to. I just know the reality. They're going to call in the full team. Marshals, agents, local forces…" He sighed. "It's going to be like when he broke out of the SuperMax. Except I was there that time."

She didn't respond. She glanced at the television, and then back at her husband, as though trying to figure out what to say.

His mind was racing now. Of Neal, and where he could be, and what might happen if they located him.

Don't be stupid, he coached Neal in his mind, frustrated. Don't you dare be stupid.

Beside him, Elizabeth remained silent.

"If we find him, and somehow my gut is right, and he didn't do this," Peter continued, this time out loud, "and we get to go back to our terms, then I'm doing this different..."

"Doing what different?"

"This thing with him. I'm doing it different. I let down my guard. Even with Dean hunting us, I let down my guard. I don't know how I let him convince me to just let him go and to turn off that tracker. If I could go back, I would just shut the whole conversation down."

"Peter… You can't keep going back to that. What's done is done."

"What's done is probably my job," he replied edgily. "Look at me saying if we go back… There's no going back. Hell, it's probably all over." He cursed under his breath.

"Don't make assumptions," she chided, reaching over to squeeze his knee. "There's a chance you get back to the way things were."

He sighed, shaking his head. "Oh, I don't know about that."

"Peter…"

"I should have been stricter."

"Peter, stop. I think Neal would say you were pretty strict."

"I turned off his tracker, El," he said stiffly. His anger was to himself. "Talk about giving an inch."

"You're being too hard on yourself.."

"Just setting myself up for reality." He turned his head and took in his wife's expression. Then he sighed, shaking his head. "I'm sorry." He gestured toward the TV. "Let's try to focus on this, and when we can do more, we will."

She reached for the controller beside her on the couch. "We can watch anything else, Peter. I just felt…"

"Yeah, I know…" he sighed. He reached for her hand, curling his own fingers around hers. "Thank you. I'm sorry this is happening."

He was about to make a decent effort to stare at the TV silently and block out his thoughts when there was a knock.

A knock at the backdoor.

He froze.

El's hand tightened around his. "Did you hear that…?"

Peter squeezed her hand, feeling his posture go rigid, as he turned his head towards the back of their house. "Yes…" he began tentatively. He released her hand, pushing himself up from the couch to his feet.

"Peter," she objected tentatively.

"Stay there," he told her. "It might just be one of the agents that Reese posted." Despite his assurance, he immediately went to grab his gun from its place in its holster with his jacket by the front door.

"Peter, please," she persisted.

The knock sounded again from the back door. A solid rap, insistent almost.

Peter cast a look Elizabeth's way and found her wide-eyed. He gave her a reassuring look, gesturing with his hand to stay seated where she was on the couch, and then moved swiftly towards the back of the house.

"Peter…" she voiced again.

He nodded, acknowledging her, but persisted forward.

As he reached the door, he skillfully had his gun aimed with precision as he extended his other arm to reach for the lock.

He turned the lock, hearing the click of the deadbolt.

He cursed under his breath again as his heart pounded, telling himself that the backdoor sure as hell needed a peephole and he'd address that one of these days.

Tightening his grip on his gun and aiming steadily, he slowly pulled open the door.

It only took a brief second to recognize the figure on the other side of the entrance as he inched it open.

"Jesus," he muttered, lowering his gun. The second's long duration of extreme anxiety left him in an equally sudden wave, replaced by emptiness.

Mozzie, on the other side of the door, had immediately raised his hands at the sight of the gun, a baffled look on his face. "Suit," he said slowly with an expression that looked like a deer in headlights.

"Get inside," Peter told him, opening the door further and stepping back to allow the other man to enter.

Mozzie's arms dropped, and he slid through the open door obediently.

"Mrs. Suit," Mozzie said as walked further into the house and noticed Elizabeth on the couch.

Peter locked the door again, feeling somewhat exasperated. He turned around, gun at his side.

"I called you," he told Mozzie in aggravation. "My team gave me your number. You couldn't call me back?"

"Yeah. About that. I'll be changing that number," Mozzie replied. "But for now, while it pains me to be here, I though face-to-face might also be the safest." He cocked his head to the side. "You really trust those agents parked in that Taurus across the street? I walked right by them. One of them is playing Sudoku."

Running out of patience, Peter ignored the question. "Where is Neal?" he demanded.

Mozzie frowned, and he reached up to adjust his glasses. "I thought you would tell me that." He paused. "That's why I'm here."

"What?"

"You have his phone."

Peter's brow furrowed as he folded his arms over his chest. "I do have his phone. But that's all I have."

Mozzie's expression changed, clearly growing confused and then concerned. "What do you mean?"

"So you haven't talked to him?"

"No…" Mozzie said slowly.

Peter sighed, frustrated. "And I assume if he ran, you would know?"

"Ran?" Mozzie echoed.

"That or you're an excellent actor," Peter replied. He scrutinized the other mean. "But then again, if you weren't being sincere, why would you be here?"

"What do you mean, ran?"

"Neal never came back."

Mozzie's face was blank. "What?"

"The last time I saw Neal was when I stupidly let him walk out that door with you," Peter continued, pointing at his front door accusingly and giving Mozzie a look.

"That doesn't make any sense."

Peter let out a deep breath, walking forward to pass Mozzie and continuing across the room back towards his wife. "Well, I guess I should be relieved this wasn't some orchestrated event with you," he muttered. "Can't say I feel much better though."

"Have you tracked him?"

Peter turned back around, putting his hands on his hips and raising his eyebrows. He noted that the expression Mozzie had continued to be one of worry, but it didn't stop him from being slightly skeptical. "Have I tracked him?" Peter repeated the question monotonously.

"You're the one that –"

"I'm the one?"

"Peter," Elizabeth objected from the couch. She now raised the controller for the television, silencing it.

Peter took a deep breath, looking Mozzie in the eye. "Neal is missing," he told him flatly, without emotion. "He never came back."

Mozzie's brow furrowed. Again he adjusted his glasses, as though nervous.

"I don't think he ran," Peter added. "No one else will buy that, but…"

"Shouldn't you be at the office?" Mozzie asked him. "Doing your Suit stuff?"

"Suit stuff," Peter echoed, shaking his head. "Right." He cleared his throat. "No, actually, Mozzie. I'm not very welcome there right now. Partially because your friend is MIA."

"He didn't run."

"Well…"

"He didn't run," Mozzie repeated firmly, emphasizing the words.

Peter studied him, realizing it was the longest and most intense eye contact he'd ever made with Neal's friend. He paused and then after a moment, gestured for the man to take a seat.

"Let's talk," he told him.