"He's headed that way!" was the next shout Neal heard.

And once again he ran as though his life depended on it.

As he ran, terrified, Neal couldn't help but feel with the heavy weight of anxiety and disappointment as though his entire effort since escaping Dean had been a failure. While he'd succeeded in finding a phone, the first goal he'd set out on, the achievement was short-lived. Other than informing Mozzie where he was, the phone call itself hadn't accomplished anything.

If anything, it had put him further in risk.

He never expected the kid in the computer lab to be a threat, or even a distraction. At the same time, in hindsight he didn't know what he could have done differently. Still, despite best intentions, since his crash landing from the hotel's ductwork into its actually habited space, he'd clearly racked up a list of suspicious encounters and infractions.

And now what? What was next?

His feet pounded against the ugly carpeted floor as he ran with all his might without a plan. It wasn't lost on him that he was running in a direction that was away from any exits. He had just come from the exits. Both the elevators and stairwell were behind him. All exit signs were pointing back to where he'd come from.

It was possible he was running himself directly into a dead end.

But what was the alternative? Going up against two hotel employees and two presumably armed officers? Those chances didn't seem so good. He wasn't likely to talk his way out of that scenario.

And so he ran and tried to block out the noise of shouting behind him. Unsurprising, they were all clearly in pursuit.

A phone call for naught. Mozzie couldn't help him now. No one could.

He didn't even know for sure what they were after him for. Was it just the hotel's view of suspicious behavior? The chaotic mess in the kitchen? Trespassing? Or had they already linked him to the art heist? To Samantha? It was hard to say. And he really didn't want to know. What he wanted was to get out.

But as he ran, it was obvious he was really running out of options. There was nothing ahead except for a quickly shortening span of hallway. It would be the end of the ugly carpet.

And at the end of this hallway was a window.

He was going to have to place all of his bets on that window.

All he hoped was that the window could open.

He didn't have much hope beyond that.

Peter was surprised to receive a call from Mozzie, and even more surprised when the man wouldn't stop talking.

Getting a visit from Neal's friend in his home earlier had been unlikely enough, but given the man's penchant to avoid potentially compromised phone lines, an in-person discussion had been his only alternative.

A phone call this time? Well, this time, there hadn't been time to come in person, Mozzie told him bluntly, vowing that after this ordeal he would be immediately changing his number.

More importantly, he had spoken to Neal. And since revealing that fact, he continued animatedly to ramble on about the discussion. Except it wasn't telling Peter anything he needed to know.

"Mozzie," Peter spoke firmly once he was able to get a word in. He was trying to keep his voice calm so not to spook the other man so he could gain control of the conversation. Meanwhile, he felt his own sense of urgency at the news that there had been contact with Neal. "This is important. I have agents there. If he's still at the hotel, you have to tell me exactly where he is."

"Those agents think he committed a crime," Mozzie told him bluntly, an edge to his voice. "I'm not even sure calling you was a good idea. How am I to know whether—"

"Let us do our job," Peter interjected. Voice calm, he reminded himself. Don't scare him off. "Calling me was exactly the right thing to do."

"Your job?" Mozzie echoed. "No offense, Suit, but you told me yourself that your hands are tied and that the extent of what you can do has to be from your home."

"I trust my agents," Peter told him. Stay calm, he reminded himself, this time more emphatically. A reminder of his own current constraints did not bring calm feelings...

"You say that but how do you really do a field job from home?" Mozzie persisted. "You're not there."

Peter knew damn well he wasn't where he needed to be. The comment rubbed him the wrong way but he tried to dismiss the feeling, focusing instead on Mozzie's previous words. "You said he sounded panicked before he suddenly hung up. Do you know why?"

Mozzie paused before responding. "I don't know," he admitted. "I got the feeling he was interrupted…As though maybe someone else was there..."

"Did you hear another voice? Or any other clues?" Peter paced his living room – the only thing he could do – feeling trapped. Walking in circles was only making him more agitated. He felt like he was in a cage.

"No," Mozzie responded slowly. "No other voices. I don't think." His tone was slightly frustrated. "But he wouldn't have hung up unless he had a good reason. We weren't done."

"The number he called from, is it –"

"It's a generic number," Mozzie replied before Peter could finish the question. "Calling it back will only get you the main line for the hotel." He let out an exasperated breath. "I already tried that."

"But it means he's definitely there," Peter stated. "At the hotel." He paused. "I'm going to let my team know you had contact, and that he's at the hotel so they can at least keep the search there going," he continued, "but you've got to give me a little more than that, Mozzie. It's a big place. They've been looking since Samantha was found, and it's clear that the duct system was utilized to get around."

"The ducts."

"That's how they had access to the room she was in. They could be anywhere now. What else did he say?"

"They?" Mozzie repeated. "What do you mean by they? He's alone."

Peter sighed, walking again across the length of his living room. "You don't know that for sure." He paused at his coffee table. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a piece of paper, folded in half. Distracted, he repeated a phrase he commonly said to Neal. "Don't deflect the question."

"He's operating alone," Mozzie insisted. "You know that, don't you?"

Peter reached down for the piece of paper, slowly, as though the paper itself would object or bite. "I'm not saying he isn't, Mozzie. I'm just saying we need to be prepared for any scenario. You just said you thought he was interrupted." Once in his hands, he balanced the phone against his shoulder, using both hands to unfold the page, revealing Neal's sketch of Dean.

"I said I didn't know," Mozzie objected.

Peter didn't immediately respond. The eyes of their villain stared back at him. It was a remarkable resemblance. Even just a brief moment of staring into the dark, pencil drawn eyes on the page brought back the experience from the bunker in full force. In the quickly sketched portrayal, Neal had also captured Dean in the midst of a sneer. Whether or not he had done it intentionally, it conveyed not just the likeness but also the demeanor of their captor.

"Well, Dean is still out there too," Peter said, unbalanced by the likeness in his hand. "We need to assume that he could be in the hotel too."

"Dean." Mozzie said the name as though suddenly having a revelation. "I have his license plate," Mozzie answered. "Neal gave it to me. I almost forgot."

"His license plate?" Peter frowned. He folded the drawing back in half and dropped it onto the coffee table, turning his back to it as he walked back towards the dining room to his notes.

"Take this down," Mozzie persisted. "Maybe it'll get us somewhere."

As he reached the window at full speed, Neal was coaching himself – Be smart but be fast. Don't make any mistakes. Don't be rash. Mozzie always emphasized the importance of smart over quick, but both were equally as important. Especially when the luxury of time was not on his side.

In fact, based on the increasingly loud volume of the shouting behind him, he had no time at all.

"Please don't be locked, please don't be locked," Neal pleaded under his breath out loud as he quickly pushed aside the window's curtains to reveal the glass panes behind it. He tried to get at the window's handle, but found it was locked. He quickly located the locking mechanism and flipped the switch the other way, risking a few seconds to glance over his shoulder to assess his situation.

He gauged he had less than thirty seconds on his pursuers. He'd easily outrun them, but they were swiftly catching up now that he was at a dead end.

As far as he could tell, he still had only had one option available to him, and that was getting through this window.

The problem with that option was that he was on the fifth floor, and as far as he could tell as he pushed the window open, revealing a cool breeze of fresh air on the other side, there was not an obvious route down.

He was suddenly taken back to that night at June's. When house arrest combined with boredom and frustration had led him to a climbing expedition. A training session of kinds. A 'be prepared for anything' lesson to himself. That lesson had not ended well. He'd detrimentally misjudged the details during that climb and lost his grip, falling.

If that happened now, five flights up, the outcome would be radically different.

This wouldn't be minor bumps and bruises to deny as though nothing had happened. There would be no objecting to an urgent care visit with Peter while the man tried to figure out the cause of the alleged injury. There would be... nothing.

That would be the end.

The actual end…

What would they do with his body?

Would there be a funeral? Any kind of service? How did any of that work?

'What the hell, Neal?' he asked himself. Annoyed at himself for wasting valuable time on such an introspective and unhelpful distraction, Neal pushed himself forward. He didn't have a choice, especially with the seconds he'd just lost, and he had to act fast, no matter the consequences.

He took a deep breath, preparing himself, and then took action.

Taking a leap of faith was an understatement.

He didn't want this to be the end.

"… and that was roughly ten minutes ago, sir," Jones finished his report slowly, pausing as though in anticipation of a response.

"He did what?" Peter demanded over the phone. At this point in time, he had resigned himself to relocated pacing in his small backyard, thought the fresh air and a change of scenery was barely helpful. Satchmo had paced with him for a few minutes as well in the beginning, as though sensing his owner's anxiety, before finally taking interest in the shrubs nearby where he now stayed. "Are you sure?"

Jones scoffed over the line. "Very sure, Boss," he confirmed. "Extremely sure. Diana just told me there's a surveillance video too, but I haven't seen it yet."

The image of Neal exiting a fifth floor window made Peter's stomach turn. "Jesus…" he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. "And then where did he go? Did they manage to see that?"

"Well," Jones paused. "Kind of. He somehow made it down to where there was a balcony on a lower floor. Which apparently required some impressive sort of scaling the facade because it was on a different part of the building and—"

"Enough. I don't want to hear that part," Peter interjected, shaking his head. His stomach turned again, and it was a mixture of the anxiety from a mental image of this stunt of Neal's and his inability to do any damn thing about it. He clenched his fists. "Where's the last place they saw him?"

"He made it to the street," Jones confirmed. "And before you ask, yes, we had guys posted on the street, but at the entrances and exits, including the garage. Not the back. We didn't exactly expect someone to literally parkour off the side of the building..."

Peter continued shaking his head as he replied, "Well, maybe we should have expected that."

"With Neal, maybe," Jones acknowledged. "We know which way he headed, but that's all at this point. We've got agents headed that way as well. There's also a subway entrance at the end of the block, so–"

"So he could be anywhere," Peter finished dryly.

"He doesn't have to run," Jones said, sounding a bit frustrated. "Why is he running? Isn't he making himself look even more guilty this way?"

Peter hesitated before answering. He could see both sides. Clearly the perspective from law enforcement's side of it was obvious. The optics here were not in Neal's favor. Running was a sign of guilt.

But for Neal himself… that was instinct. Peter always told Neal not to run from authorities, but knew his attempt to teach him to trust law enforcement was going to take more time. To date it was often met with an unspoken skepticism and an innate distrust that was hard to dispel.

Peter wanted to believe that if he were there, closer to the scene, that Neal would come to him. But he didn't know. And it didn't matter, because he wasn't there.

Neal had been on the run now, with Dean in the mix, and he was now also likely fully aware that a mix of the US Marshals, the FBI, and the NYPD were on his tail. It was unlikely Neal would offer himself up to that crowd, especially without Peter present.

"He's not running away entirely," Peter responded carefully. "Not in the true sense of the word. From this situation, yes, but..." What was he doing, justifying Neal's actions? Of course he was running away. He had just admitted to himself the optics of the situation and why Neal would do exactly that. Nonetheless he added, "He's not intending to comp;etely disappear."

"No?" Jones replied skeptically. "Well, you could've fooled me. He just jumped off a building for God's sake."

Peter winced at the image. "I know. But he's not running from us," Peter qualified. "I think we'll hear from him."

"I hope you're right…"

"You've already got eyes on my place," Peter continued. "Get eyes on June's as well as the office."

"Will do."

Peter sighed, staring at the back of his house, up towards the window that led to his bedroom, where El was probably still resting. "I've got to make a quick phone call, Jones. Keep me posted if you hear anything else."

"Will do," Jones answered. "Also, Diana just flipped the security video over to me. I'm forwarding it to you now. Check your email."

"Great," Peter responded with muted enthusiasm, tone dripping with sarcasm. "Bye." He cut the call, immediately moving to bring up his recent contacts as he started to head in the direction of his backdoor. He located Satchmo sniffing a corner of the yard and whistled at him to follow.

Once inside with the door securely locked behind them, he hit dial on a number while heading back to his laptop and scattered notes on the dining table.

He had just flipped the laptop open when Mozzie answered the phone.

"Any update?" Mozzie said anxiously. Peter didn't know if the anxiety was attributed to concern for his friend or the repeat of phone call with a federal agent to his personal line, but didn't stop to analyze it.

"Your friend is scaling buildings," Peter told him dryly, quickly logging into the laptop and pulling up his email on the screen. "You know that? Scaling buildings." He double-clicked on the newest message that appeared from Jones, watching the attachment download.

"Again?" Mozzie responded, a tone of exasperation. But he quickly pivoted to another question, asking with urgency, "Do you mean he left the hotel? Where is he?"

"That's what I wanted to ask you," Peter answered curtly. He felt impatient and frustrated. "Where do you think he would –" He suddenly cut himself off, pausing as Mozzie's early comment hit him. "Wait a minute. Did you say 'again'? What the hell do you mean 'again'?" Peter demanded. He narrowed his eyes as the video program launched from his email attachment.

"Well, to start, the whole incident at June's that landed him in urgent care?" Mozzie responded. "And that wasn't even the first time… I've been telling him, he's going to break his neck one of these days… Where is he now?"

Peter inhaled slowly with frustration while the video played in front of him, Mozzie's words a timely voiceover. As he exhaled, he watched the laptop screen. "The incident at June's," he echoed numbly as he watched the scene with a pit in his stomach. While the image was grainy, there was an obvious image of Neal expelling himself from the upper story window of the hotel, hanging on to what looked like a thick curtain and using that to swing himself over several feet to a drainage pipe. From the drainage pipe, he moved using some invisible hold on the facade, heading towards the balcony below…

Jesus Christ, Neal, he thought to himself, clenching his fists. You and I are going to have a lot of talking to do. The image of Neal on the screen dangled from another drainage pipe for a moment before he successfully leapt to the balcony. After I wring your neck...

Mozzie interrupted his thoughts, "Where is he now?" he repeated.

"You tell me," Peter returned swiftly, closing his laptop lid firmly and pushing the device away from him in vexation. "That's why I'm calling. Where would he go? Back to June's?"

"Well, how do you know he left? Is someone tailing him? Did—"

"We only have a witness and a surveillance video, Mozzie," Peter interjected impatiently. "I can tell you the corner the video ends on, but that's all. He could be anywhere now. Would he contact you?"

"Well, if he had a phone. What corner?"

Peter ignored the question, persisting with his own. "What would his plan be, Mozzie? You must have discussed the plan."

"Look, Suit. I told you everything before. He ended the call, We didn't get that far."

"Would he go to June's?" Peter persisted.

"June's?" Mozzie scoffed at the suggestion, as though it was ludicrous. "Only if he were stupid."

Peter let out an exasperated sigh at the response, which was not in the least bit constructive and if anything was just agitating. "Mozzie. I'm looking for a little help here..."

"No offense, Suit," Mozzie continued. "But June's? Do you not have someone posted at June's just waiting for him to show up there?"

Peter sighed. Mozzie was right. He had literally just directed Jones to ensure there was someone at June's. While technically no one might be there at that precise moment, they would be very quickly. He ignored the question. "So then give me another another suggestion," he directed firmly. "If he's not heading there, then where would he go?" he demanded.

Mozzie began to get defensive. "I thought you were the one to notoriously catch him? Where would you look?"

In addition to the defensiveness, Peter caught a sense of uncertainty in the other man's tone. It seemed it was one thing when Neal had been trapped in the hotel, and Mozzie didn't know what else to do but inform Peter. Now that the current narrative implied that Neal might be free and on the run, the tone had changed. "Mozzie. Come on. I thought you understood that I'm on your side?"

"There are sides," Mozzie acknowledged. "And then there are sides." He paused before continuing in the beginning of a nervous ramble. "It's like a… a venn diagram, and while there's a place where you and I and Neal intersect, there's also another place that we—"

"Venn diagram," Peter repeated in a mutter, cutting him off. He took a deep breath. "Listen, we don't have time for this. He's going to be caught. Whether you like it or not. And trust me when I say that you want me to catch him."

"You? How though? The only way that you'll catch him is if he shows up in your living room." Mozzie sounded frustrated. "Which no offense, but I'm not sure he's heading that way. He knows there are eyes on your place."

"So then where would he go?" Peter persisted.

"And if I tell you what I think? Who does that information go to? It's not even clear to me what capacities you have as an agent right now."

"Mozzie. You have to trust me."

"I want to," Mozzie admitted. He paused, as though thinking. "But even if I did trust you, I haven't heard from him since I called you earlier. You know more than I do at this point."

"Are you just saying that or—"

"I haven't heard from him," Mozzie persisted unwaveringly.

"Fine," Peter responded, a bit disgruntled. "So let me repeat my original question. Where would he go? Haven't you guys ever discussed a situation like this? He needs to run – where to?"

"He'd probably try to find a phone again. But we also have a couple locations that—"

"Bingo, Mozzie. That's what I'm talking about. I need addresses. Now." Peter moved to grab his notepad and pen from beside the laptop.

Mozzie sighed, and Peter could nearly visualize the man shaking his head on the other side of the phone. Peter loosened the grip on the pen in his hand in disappointment as Mozzie replied, "Listen, my plan was to go to those locations. Meaning me. Alone. To see if he shows up."

"My team can meet you there."

"Your team…" Mozzie said uncertainly. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not? You met Jones earlier. He can be trusted."

"Do you really think Neal's going to head somewhere that there are agents?" Mozzie challenged.

"Agent, Mozzie. Singular. Not agents."

"To-may-to, to-mah-to," Mozzie retorted critically.

"It's not justany agent either, Mozzie," Peter persisted. He was defensive but also desperate to convince the man to let him into his trust circle. "It's my team."

"Yeah, and does Neal trust your team? Or does he trust you?" Mozzie responded.

Peter couldn't answer that. He could speculate with a decidedly good guess at what the answer was. And while he could have wishful thinking that despite their short amount of time working together that there had been a level of trust that extended beyond Peter himself and at least to the immediate team…. It all ultimately linked back to Neal's innate distrust of the authorities.

"We'd be there to help him," Peter persisted. "It's not like it's a trap."

"Right," Mozzie replied cynically. "Let me call him right up and tell him that."

Peter sighed. "Mozzie. We have to work together here…"

Mozzie exhaled himself, matching Peter's tone. "And we are working together, Suit. I'll call you back as soon as I know something," he continued. His manner of speaking was sincere. "I picked up your call. And I'm still on the line. You may not think that's a big deal, but it is for me, and Neal wouldn't even believe you if you told him we were talking right now."

Peter had to admit that was true. He knew this probably was as far as he could push the other man before he actually did hang up. "Fine," he agreed. He didn't want to agree, but they were running out of time.

"I'll call you," Mozzie vowed.

The line went dead before Peter could say anything else.

Neal never stopped running.

The minute he made it back to ground level and his feet touched the sidewalk – and it was by a miracle that he'd made it that far – he didn't stop. He kept up the urgent pace. The soles of his shoes hit the ground as he ran in a desperate attempt to get as far away as possible.

He was painfully aware that his current direction was known and likely broadcasted, and he had to change that quickly. His pursuers had screamed at him as he went out the window, a deafening sound that was now a buzz in his head, and there was no doubt in his mind that they were informing everyone they could where he was going. Given what had gone on at the hotel, it was certain there would be dozens of agents, police, or even the Marshals.

And so he ran, his only option, despite being out of breath and nearly out of energy. Up ahead of him, he could see the unmistakable green iron fencing adorned with a white station label, along with the accompaniment of a globe lamp. He immediately knew that was his next step.

The easiest way to get out of sight was to go underground.

Though as he reached the subway entrance's stairs, he suddenly heard someone else shouting. "Hey you!"

While his legs didn't stop, he looked up to see two NYPD officers headed swiftly in his direction from across the street. He was already three stairs down as they ungracefully stopped traffic to cross the street with a hand held in the air. The tires of a Mercedes squealed as the car came to a halt to let the officers pace.

"You've got to be kidding me…" No time to waste, Neal simply cursed and took two steps at a time in his descent.

"Stop!" one of the officers shouted again.

He knew they'd be right behind him in just seconds.

He was getting really tired of being chased.

He knew they weren't stopping him for just any reason. Looking disheveled and running down the sidewalk like your life depended on it was hardly a rare event in the city, and so there was no other reason than the fact he certainly met a description of someone they had been told to look out for and possibly had known was heading their way.

So that was it. Everyone was looking for him.

"Stop now!" they persisted. "Police!"

He swung himself around the hard right bend as the stairwell turned and descended the last few feet into the tiled underground station. To the right of him was an attendant's booth, where a distracted older gentleman sat with his head down, looking unbothered behind his glass barrier. Neal paid him no mind as he ran towards the turnstiles, barely losing momentum as he leapt over the closest one, clearing the metal bar with ease.

He turned his head as he landed on the other side and hit the platform, catching the image of the two cops just passing the attendant's booth.

One of them had his gun drawn.

"Oh shit," Neal muttered.

"Stop right there!" the officer with the gun shouted.

Neal turned back around, noticing to his left a couple on the platform closer to the tracks looking at him with cautious expressions. He decided that, while against his moral code, a human shield wasn't the worst thing in the world, and he ran in their direction. They looked spooked and stepped out of his way as he rushed past them.

He could hear the staticky sound of the officers' radios as they now also came to the other side of the platform, though they barreled their way through the emergency exit, sounding its meager alarm as the heavy metal door rattled open.

"Affirmative," he could hear the one agent speaking, his voice a bit ragged through panting breaths. "Repeating, we have the suspect in sight and he is resisting our commands. Location is –"

Neal almost wanted to pause so he could hear the location, because it would help him too, but he couldn't risk letting them close the gap.

Ahead of him was several feet of floor to ceiling tiled walls. To the right was the tracks. And in front of him... the end of the subway platform.

He had only two choices. Let the wall stop him. Or keep going.

It was like the window all over again.

Peter's going to kill me, was his last thought before he rushed to the end of the platform and turned toward the tracks, standing on the edge for just a moment to locate the third rail before he jumped.

His feet hit the wet, litter-strewn ground between the two main tracks as he gasped on impact, a puddle splashing around his shoes. Nearby a rodent squeaked in alarm and shuffled away into the shadows.

Neal stared into the darkness of the tunnel, squinting into the expanse beyond the signal lights, the police officer's shouts coming over him as an echo in the station.

And once again he ran into the unknown.