I sincerely apologize for the delay in getting this update out.

.

"I need you to stay home, Peter," Hughes said firmly. "Coming into the office is absolutely out of the question."

Peter sighed, trying to formulate a compelling response though he knew it was futile. He paced in his kitchen, feeling as though he would wear a track into the floor if he kept it up. "I can't do anything from here, Sir."

"You can rest," was the response. "In fact, let that be the official story. Because right now? Right now I'm swimming in questions on why you weren't off duty sooner."

"Off duty," Peter echoed. "Sir, really?"

"Really, Peter," Hughes responded dryly. "I'm wondering at the moment whether it even makes sense that you still have your badge and your gun."

Peter exhaled an exasperated breath, rolling his eyes.

Hughes continued, "And did you really have to make an appearance at the hotel?" He sounded exasperated more than angry.

Peter hesitated, not responding. Of course Hughes knew he'd been there. That didn't take long. Without directly responding, he paused his pacing in his kitchen, drumming his fingers anxiously against his countertop.

"I don't expect you to confirm nor deny," Hughes replied to the silence. "But I can't have it happen again. There's an internal investigation now. And the Marshals are crawling up our ass as well."

"I understand," Peter began. He did, despite his frustration.

"This accusation against Neal. We need to take it seriously."

"Sir, I need to know exactly what she said. Any statements she makes. Because I don't believe a word of it. Neal didn't do this."

It was Hughe's turn to sigh over the phone. "Peter, listen to me. Right now she's still at the hospital being observed. We only have her unofficial account of what happened. The formal statement will come after she's ready. But the unofficial account…. It's rather damning."

"You don't believe it though?" Peter persisted.

"I need to be objective here, Peter. As should you."

Peter's stomach turned at the message insinuated. "Objective? So be objective. He couldn't have done this."

"Couldn't? Really, Peter? Come on… You know he's capable of it," Hughes replied, voice terse.

"Capable and culpable are two different things, Sir. And quite honestly I think we need to be careful not to assign undue prejudice here until—"

"Hold on," Hughes interrupted dismissively. "Don't talk to me about prejudice. A few months ago you wouldn't even be questioning the possibility that he might have had something to do with this," he said curtly. "Do I need to remind you of your own list of Caffrey indiscretions? This is exactly the type of thing he's always done."

"Sir…" Peter breathed out in exasperation. "This is exactly the type of thing he hasn't been doing since working for us."

"Well, maybe it was just a matter of time."

"You really think that?"

"Why not? You used to call him opportunistic, Peter. Is he not? Do I need to pull his record for you? Including allegations? You're the expert on him."

"He's been working with us, Sir."

"Until now. I don't know what spell he's cast over you in the last few months, but you have to remember his track record and what he is capable of, Peter. We can't ignore the fact that there's a real chance he saw an opportunity here and took it."

"Honestly, I just… I don't buy it," Peter replied, shaking his head. It was impossible. Wasn't it? The last time he'd spoken to Neal, he was headed back here to his home. On good faith. With earnest intention. He hadn't even known that they were going to put together this showing. They'd been talking about maybe forging a piece…

He couldn't have done this.

Right?

"You're exhausted," Hughes told him. "I can hear it in your voice. Take a step away. Spend some time with Elizabeth. We have someone posted at your house in the meantime, so there's no concerns over safety. I'll keep you posted on the case, but you need to take a step away before it's too late.."

"We need to find Neal," Peter told him.

Hughes agreed, "Of course. Regardless of his involvement here, he's currently our liability. I have a team on it. Not to mention there's an APB out."

"I can find him," Peter asserted.

"Right." Hughes scoffed. "Can you?" He sounded exasperated again. "Well, if you can, Peter, please do it from the confines of your living room, will you?"

Irked by the response, Peter debated saying more. Making his case. Explaining why he was the one best suited to find Neal. After all, he'd done it before. He'd been the only one to do it. Neal was only going to run from anyone else that tried.

But he found himself not responding.

"I'll call you when we have anything else," Hughes told him, a repeated message. "And you do the same."

The line went dead.

Shaking his head, Peter placed the phone down on his counter. He barely had a moment to digest the conversation when he heard a soft but deliberate knock at his back door.

Frowning, he stepped out from the corner of his kitchen, walking around the island to ease his way cautiously closer to the door.

He thought about Hughe's comments in regards to having a detail watching his house… If this wasn't them, then what a good job they were doing, he thought sarcastically.

He glanced over towards his empty living room, and then over to the other side of the house in the direction of the front door and stairs. Elizabeth had gone up to their bedroom to rest a while ago. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb her. Or to cause her any undue panic. This was hard enough on her already.

Looking uneasy as well, Satchmo had given up his prone position on the floor to stand with alert ears, though he kept his distance from both his master and the back door. He seemed to be watching Peter's reaction to gauge his what his own should be.

Slowly and with a cautious eye trained on the back door as he moved, Peter first made his way over to the other side of the house to retrieve his gun where it sat on his coffee table. As the knock sounded once again, he was headed back to door.

As he neared it, he also heard a muffled but familiar voice on the other side.

"C'mon, Suit. I know you're in there."

With a soft sigh, Peter slowly unlocked the door and edged it open with a mix of relief and frustration. He tucked his gun behind him into the waistband of his pants.

"Mozzie," he spoke.

"Suit," responded the man in front of him.

"Come in," he replied, allowing the door to open wider and stepping to the side, out of the way.

Mozzie accepted the invitation and walked in with a nervous gait, eyeing the other man uncertainly. "Is it a bad time?" he asked, adjusting his glasses as he moved further into the room. "I waited until you finished your call." He scanned the rest of the room, as if confirming whether anyone else was present.

Peter raised his eyebrows, turning away for a moment to shut and lock the door again. "Waited until I finished my call?" He narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he repeated the words and turned back around to face the other man. "And what – are you watching me now?" he demanded.

"Watching you?"

"Let me guess," Peter began, taking a step closer to Mozzie. "When you allegedly knocked out his surveillance, don't tell me you added some of your own."

"No," Mozzie interjected, looking at Peter with an incredulous look, as though he was crazy. "Are you kidding?" He shook his head. Then, pausing, he said more seriously, "While I did offer that to Neal, I'll have you know he turned down the offer immediately."

Peter narrowed his eyes even more.

"Immediately," Mozzie assured, accentuating the word.

Peter remained skeptical. "Then how'd you know my call was over…?"

Mozzie exhaled. "The old fashioned way," he said sarcastically. "My eyes. I watched you through the window." Mozzie gestured emphatically towards the kitchen window with slight exasperation. "Now, I'm not the best at reading lips, but the discussion seemed quite… let's say, tense. Did you –"

"What exactly do you know?" Peter asked, cutting him off. He was out of patience. The little man seemed too sure of himself. He shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest. Again, his ribs sent a jolt of pain through his body, as though screaming at him. Would this position ever be comfortable again?

"Me? I came here to ask you the same question," Mozzie retorted, a slight edge to his voice. "You know, you left pretty abruptly back there at the hotel. Would have been nice to know in advance that your plan was to ditch me with a room full of Feds."

"I didn't ditch you."

"No? What would you call it then?"

Peter sighed, eyeing his CI's friend tiredly. "My sudden departure wasn't intentional. Things are… Well, it's a complicated right now."

"And when I asked where you were… I was told – by Jones? – that you weren't even supposed to be there to begin with?" Mozzie raised his eyebrows. "What's that about?"

"Like I said," Peter replied without taking the energy to mask his exasperation. "It's complicated."

"Complicated or not, I have to know… Am I right to put any trust in you right now?" Mozzie persisted, looking at Peter with a skeptical frown. "Because, if I'm going to be honest, Suit, I can't believe I'm even in your house again." Once again his eyes shifted around the room, examining his surroundings uncomfortably.

"You can trust me," Peter replied calmly. At least in this case, he added to himself silently. He wasn't sure he could commit to perpetual trust with this man. Even though it seemed Neal trusted him unconditionally. Then, he spoke again out loud. "We both want the same thing. To find Neal."

"And then what?" Mozzie persisted. He continued to look distrustful. "Do we have the same motivation once we find him?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What are you going to do? When you find him?"

Peter acknowledged that Mozzie's phrasing of 'when' and not 'if' was promising. But he still wasn't following his insinuation. He frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"Back at the hotel, they were saying some stuff about Neal," Mozzie replied. He looked irked. "About what happened in that room. And—"

"Wait, you stuck around?" Peter interrupted. "After I left?"

"Of course I did…" Mozzie answered, a bit defensively. "It was my only link to Neal at this point. But I've got to tell you, Suit, that what they're accusing Neal of doing back there," he jerked his thumb towards the window, as though it was in the direction of the hotel, "he didn't do any of it."

Peter slowly nodded, listening but not responding.

Mozzie continued without waiting for a response, "But if this is where things are headed with you suits, maybe it's better if I find him myself." He then shook his head. "Should I even be here?" he muttered.

"Is that rhetorical?" Peter retorted. As the mousey man shot him a look, Peter changed the subject. "What did you hear?"

It was Mozzie's turn to cross his arms over his chest. "Somehow I think you already know what I heard," he replied, raising one brow. "You want to tell me? You probably know more than I do."

"I doubt it. But if it makes any difference to you," Peter began, "I don't think he's capable of it." He paused. "Morally I mean." He sighed. "He wouldn't have done that."

"I obviously agree with you," Mozzie replied. "But what about the rest of the suits?"

"You let me handle that," Peter replied stiffly. His words felt hollow. Handling it was exactly what Hughes wasn't letting him do at the moment.

"And if he didn't do it," Mozzie persisted, "which he didn't, then who did?"

"It has to be Dean. But, since you covered all the cameras—"

"Which you asked me to do," Mozzie replied with a roll of his eyes.

"Did you do a good job?"

Mozzie exhaled, giving him an incredulous look.

"Of course you did," Peter sighed.

"And I should have known better," Mozzie answered with exasperation. "Still…" he began. "Those cameras should pick up audio. Hopefully your suits are pulling that." He paused. "Maybe you'll hear Dean's voice."

Peter nodded, but then replied, "It also wouldn't shock me if this was also self inflicted…"

"Self inflicted?" Mozzie cocked his head to the side curiously. "So you think she knocked herself out?"

Peter pursed his lips before stating, "I don't trust her."

"Yet you have her helping you."

"Perhaps pretending to," Peter replied slowly. "Something is telling me she's in on whatever's going on."

Mozzie studied the other man for a moment, considering the statement. "No one back at the hotel seemed to consider that at all. It was all about Neal."

"Half those agents were there for security purposes and don't know the extent of this case," Peter told him dismissively. "They were repeating what they heard."

Mozzie looked skeptical. "Says the guy that wasn't there."

Impatient, Peter shook his head. "Did you hear her make those comments?"

"No," Mozzie replied. "She apparently made it while in transit to the hospital. When she woke up." He frowned. "At least from what I overheard."

Peter nodded. His last couple meetings with the woman were fresh on his mind. When she knew Neal's name. "I never told her about Neal," he stated. "But she knew who he was. And now she's naming him."

Mozzie eyed him, not speaking for a moment. Then he cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses again. "So you really believe he's innocent."

"Neal?" Peter responded. "Yes. He didn't do this."

Mozzie seemed reassured at that. "We need to find him."

Peter nodded but then let out an exasperated breath. "Unfortunately I'll need to do that from here," he said, gesturing at his living room.

"Fortunately I don't have the same restrictions," Mozzie responded.

Neal was quite aware that as Dean's plan progressed his number of options diminished quickly.

Dean only needed him up until a certain point.

After he had what he wanted, then what use did he have for an accomplice? Little to none. At that point, Neal knew he became more of a liability to the other man than an asset.

The question was, what would Dean do at that point?

Given the man's history and proclivity for violence, Neal wasn't willing to wait to find out.

He needed to take action soon. The best case near term scenario was that he'd find himself drugged again. That was bad enough, but the potential of what would follow after that was even more unsettling.

He knew he had to act soon. Once they had collected all of the artwork into the duct system, they were rapidly approaching the completion of their mission.

If he waited until they made it back to the van, it would be too late.

He was developing his plan in his head while going through the motions with Dean. He followed his instructions, not wanting to give any indication that he was planning to stray from his direction.

He had just figured out what he would do when he heard the cryptic exchange between Dean and Samantha.

"That's the last one?" Dean asked. He accepted a large frame up into the ductwork and handed it to Neal, who was now positioned behind him, slightly closer to where they had come from.

"Yes," Samantha answered from below.

"You ready?" Dean asked her.

"Yes," she repeated.

"You sure?"

"Yes," she said again, more emphatically.

Neal was wondering 'ready for what' when Dean turned his head back towards him with a discerning and critical look. "Start moving these," he told him, gesturing towards the framed artwork. As Neal started to respond, Dean persisted, "It's not rocket science. Just start moving 'em back to where we came from. We need to get a move on. But be careful. This work is worth more than your life."

Neal nodded, closing his mouth. He began to shift down the vent, moving away from Dean and realizing this might give him the start he needed. And he'd get that edge while simply following instructions. It seemed too good to be true.

Dean was quickly focused back on Samantha. They were speaking in muffled tones and Neal tried to make out any words. He needed to at least have a sense of what was going on with the two of them.

"As soon as you feel it, step down from the chair," Dean told her. "It's gonna work quickly."

Feel what? Neal wondered, frowning.

"I've got it," she answered, sounding a little frustrated or concerned. "Just do it already."

"You're sure?" Dean persisted.

"I'm sure." Her voice was curt. "We have no other choice. Just do it and get out of here."

"Okay," Dean spoke. "Alright, on the count to three…" The counting became whispered and slow. "One….. Two…." Then Dean's voice was more forceful. "Three. And go – quick, Sam. Step down. Now. Come on. It's going to hit you fast."

Neal didn't hear a respond from Samantha. He heard what sounded like a very heavy thud. He turned back in alarm at the noise and didn't miss the curse that escaped Dean's lips. His headlamp illuminated the space around and he was ready for the man to react to it. But Dean was staring down, into the room.

A beat passed and then Dean seemed to move on. His focus changed. He began to shift his position and looked refocused on replacing the missing panel, taking it from where it was leaning again the wall. Then he was putting it back in place on the floor of the vent to disguise the fact that there had ever been any sort of exchange taking place through the ceiling tiles.

"What happened?" Neal couldn't help as the words slipped out of his mouth. He suddenly remembered what Dean had told him – that part of the plan where she would be incapacitated. Is that what had just happened?

"Shut up." Dean pointed a finger Neal's way, jabbing it in the air. "And do what I told you to do. You better get moving."

Neal swallowed and nodded, frowning only momentarily at the part of the vent flooring that was once an opening to the room in the hotel below and now looked untouched. No one would ever know. Like the door to the bunker in the woods. It was hidden.

He adjusted his headlamp uncomfortably and looked at the paintings surrounding him, stacked and leaning against the walls. Then, he strategically sought out the biggest ones. He moved himself further back into the ductwork, moving in a crouched fashion. Feeling determined, he leaned in to grabbed two of the frames, the largest he could see, holding them side by side in his grip. Once he had a good hold, he began to move, taking them with him.

He moved faster now than before. Dean had rushed him when they were moving in earlier, criticizing his pace, and he had done his best to buy time. At this stage, he was anxious to do the opposite. This was his time now…

It wasn't necessarily difficult to move with the two frames in tow, but it was a little awkward. These vents or ducts hadn't exactly been built for this sort of activity...

He yearned to look behind him – to see where Dean was – but he focused for now on making a good pace ahead. Looking back would only cast the light of his headlamp in that direction, either inciting more criticism from Dean or at least slowing him down. If he simply kept going and could keep up the pace, he could build up some sort of distance between himself and Dean, which would be critical before making his next move.

He couldn't see any light from Dean. He wasn't sure if he just couldn't notice it over his own headlamp, or whether the man hadn't started moving in the same direction yet.

His focus remained ahead. He wondered if Dean would notice he was moving so much faster than earlier. He didn't care.

Then it was in front of him.

Finally he reached it.

The dividing part of the vent. Where it split into two directions. They had turned right to reach Samantha, which meant returning to the car in the parking garage was to the left.

This is where he could—

"Not so fast," came the bellowing voice behind him. It made him jump, the way Dean's voice carried down the vent.

"What?" Neal stopped, frozen in place, and now turned his head as his heart sank. His headlamp illuminated the path behind him, and Dean, who wasn't as far behind as he had hoped. The man had two smaller frames tucked under his arms, and was quickly catching up with him.

"You think I'd let you exit first?" Dean sneered at him as he reached him.

"You told me to keep moving."

Dean simply growled as he moved past Neal. The vent allowed the passing, but it was uncomfortably close and Neal instinctively leaned himself as tightly against the wall as possible. He didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until Dean was in front of him.

"To the left," Neal said, knowing he should keep his mouth shut but speaking anyway.

Dean turned to glare, causing Neal to wince as the light of the other man's headlamp shined in his eyes. "I know, you moron. Just keep up the pace."

Neal nodded dumbly. "I'll be right behind you," he responded.

Dean kept his attention on him for another moment, glaring as the light continuing to blind Neal, before finally turning back around.

Neal could see white spots in his vision once the bright light was gone.

Now was his chance to move.

He waited until Dean had moved a few feet further ahead, and then he acted quickly. He propped one of the pieces of art up against the wall of the vent duct. Then, he slipped off his headlamp, balancing it on the corner of the frame, and positioning it so the light continued to shine ahead. This was a decision he was less certain about. He was giving up his only source of light, but keeping up the pretense of being behind Dean if the man glanced back to see if his light was there.

Ahead of him as he breathed heavily he could see Dean was still moving, unaware of his change in course.

Then Neal took the remaining framed piece of art he had left and moved towards the other direction available to him in the ductwork.

Dean might be headed left.

Neal was going to go to the right.

He had to act fast.

As he moved into that tunnel, he turned to balance the last frame so that if Dean came back, it would at least briefly block his view down that length of the vent.

He didn't even have time to double-check its placement.

Once his fingertips left the frame, it was time.

He moved down the other vent into the darkness, picking up speed with all his might, like a monster was behind him. In a way there was. If he'd had any fear of the dark within him, it was long forgotten at this point.

He had no idea how much time he had. When Dean would notice that he wasn't behind him.

He also had no idea where this direction led. It was pitch black ahead. Dean's route eventually led to the parking garage. This way? No idea. He didn't even know if it led anywhere.

It could be a dead end for all he knew.

He didn't care.

It was still better than the alternative.

TBC