A new week

It was Monday morning and his boss gave him a long stare. Peter did not blame him.

"That work is below your pay grade, Burke," Hughes pointed out.

"I know, but I need to see if Neal can handle it," Peter explained. "A long boring day in the van when nothing happens. I need to know if I can count on him in a small, closed, sweaty van. And I need to find out before we really need him in one."

"He came to the van last Saturday."

Peter nodded in agreement, but neither of those inside had paid any attention to Neal and his reactions. And chose to be somewhere and be forced to was two different things.

"I need to see for myself, Reece."

The senior agent nodded.

"Go ahead, Peter."

"Thanks."

Peter left the room and walked down to Neal's desk.

"Time to go," he told the kid. Neal was quick to listen and got his suit jacket and hat on in seconds.

"Where are we going?" he asked in the elevator.

"We're going to relieve Jones and Andersen in the van." Peter sent Neal a glance. "You're going to spend your first shift in one of FBIs most hated places."

"Charming idea," Neal grunted. "Why did I just volunteered to this?"

"Because we both need to know if you can handle it. Surveying Barelli is a good start."

"Barelli?"

"A classic gangster we're keeping our eyes on. Fingers in lots of jars but nothing solid enough to bring him in."

They got down to the garage and into the car.

"How did you feel in the van last Saturday?" Peter asked.

"Unwelcome," Neal replied. "But I didn't expect anyone to cheer."

"Hughes told me it was your idea to jam his phone. You did a good job."

"Thanks."

Peter kept an eye on Neal. He was likely to push the kid way out of his comfort zone. If he could not handle the van it was something they had to work on. But better now with a guy like Barelli who likely knew he had the feds on his tale than when it was vital they did not blow their cover.

Peter parked the car a few blocks away and they walked the rest of the way.

"Alright, the trick is not to catch attention when you enter the van," he told Neal. "People don't expect suits to be inside so the fewer people who see the better." He caught Neal gazing at him with a peculiar smile. "What?" Neal just raised his eyebrows. Peter got the hint.

His consultant had not been the hardest criminals to catch if he had not excelled in discreet moves.

Jones and Andersen had left and he was alone with Peter in the van. At least it was not crowded as it had been last time. There were two monitors showing different views of a house. There was a speaker but no one was at home so there was nothing to listen to at the moment. Neal was bored and restless within ten minutes. The feeling of being locked up with nothing to do made him claustrophobic.

"Reminds you of your prison cell?" Peter asked. Neal shook his head.

"No. A whole wall had bars to the corridor. It was not like this. I liked my cell." He sent Peter a glance. "Don't get me wrong. I didn't like to be in prison. But my cell was the best place there. I had my books and someone to talk to in the cell next door. Besides, normal days we didn't spend much time in there, so it was no time to get claustrophobic."

"An isolation cell then?" Peter's question hit its mark. Neal gazed at Peter. "I read your prison records, Neal. I know you spent time there."

"Everybody does."

"Not everyone gets four weeks," Peter pointed out. "Neal, the records said you didn't handle it very well."

"Thought I was going insane," Neal mumbled. "Have you tried that too, in the FBI training? Being in an isolation cell?"

Peter shook his head.

"No. I have no idea what it's like. But even if I had, I don't have the energy of a squirrel, always with the need to occupy myself with something. I think our experiences of a week in isolation would be very different." Neal nodded. "It's just the two of us here," Peter pointed out. "Wanna talk about it?"

Neal considered. The weeks in isolation was something he wanted to forget. He had been crying and had banged on the door begging for someone to let him out, or at least someone to talk to before those four weeks were over. It had not been humane. He shook his head.

"No, I don't see the point. Something fascinates me though," Neal continued. "I got those four weeks as punishment for the escape. Like it would keep me from trying again when four more years in prison didn't. I felt more like…" He halted, not sure if he should continue.

"Yes?" Peter prompted him to continue.

"It felt like it was a revenge from the warden and the guards who didn't like me. I know it's not supposed to be."

"I know. I'm thinking it's more of a reminder for the other inmates. But you did use the warden's wife's American Express." Peter chuckled and Neal joined. Then Neal got serious again.

"I couldn't help thinking that if you had taken the deal, you would've used different methods." Neal met Peter's gaze.

"You want to know what punishments I have in mind?" his handler asked. Neal nodded. "You've read the contract. You know what to expect."

Neal got the feeling Peter did not enjoy the subject. Well, Peter was the one who wanted to test his limits and bringing up a sensitive subject as well. So, Neal was not ashamed to test Peter's limits concerning something important to Neal.

"House arrest?" That was the only thing Neal could remember. Peter nodded. "So you either send me back to prison or you place me under house arrest?"

"Something like that," Peter sighed. "Neal, I know I'll probably have to place you in house arrest one time or another. I've no illusions you'll behave that good for four years, but I hope I won't have to consider anything else."

Neal nodded, more as a confirmation of what Peter said than in agreement. They sat in silence a while, watching the screens. Then Peter spoke again.

"As I see things, crimes cannot go unpunished. Society has to show what is okay and what is not. Prison serves both as keeping the criminals away from where they harm abiding citizens, and as a lesson not to do it again." Peter turned his eyes from the screen and met Neal's gaze. "If you hadn't escaped, you would've been a free man now, but I doubt you would've followed the law."

Neal could not think of anything to do but smile and shrug. Peter was right. He had had no plans on getting an ordinary job and sit by a desk all day playing by someone else's rules.

"Then why did you let me out?"

"Because there are other ways to make things work. And you had served the time I put you away for. My point is, I don't think any available punishment can scare you from committing a crime if you decide to do it. That's why I'll keep checking you up. To stop you before you get into trouble."

"Thanks, Peter. Good thinking," Neal beamed. "And I'll do my best to make sure you don't find out."

"I'm sure you will," Peter grinned.

"If I by any chance should decide to commit a crime, that is."

Neal did not have such plans. Except that he wanted out of his anklet without setting off an alarm, so he could search for Kate.

Back in the office, Peter found a package on his desk. Inside was a CD with the footage from Kate's visit with Neal. Peter considered it as he watched Neal at his desk finishing up for the day. Then he put it in his pocket and asked Neal if he wanted a ride home.

"Thanks, Peter, but I'll think I walk today. The energy of a squirrel, you know." Peter smiled and nodded. It had been a stationary day for both of them.

At home he ate dinner with Elisabeth.

"So, how was your day?"

"Spent it in the van with Neal," Peter replied. She asked him why and he explained that he wanted to make sure Neal could handle to be in a confined space without windows.

"So how did it go?"

"Surprisingly well," Peter admitted.

"But?" El asked. He must have looked troubled.

"Neal asked me about punishments. What I would use." He whirled the glass in his hand.

"Oh."

"I must admit I haven't thought about it much. I've more considered that I must be prepared to cuff him and bring him back to prison than put him in house arrest for some minor misdemeanor." He sighed. "The thing is that house arrest will not teach him anything. All I can do with that tool is to prevent him from committing a crime."

"But that's good."

"Yeah. But then I punish him for something he hasn't done. And it means I have to keep an eye on him at all time. And…"

"Yes?"

"He is an adult. If he wants to commit a crime it is his choice. I can't always be there to stop it." He wanted to. He wanted Neal to stay on the right side of the law, to work with him. Or at least not force him to bring one of the smartest guys he had met back to prison.

"As you said, he's an adult. And you can't do more than your best." Peter nodded. She was right.

He took the CD out of his pocket.

"I need your help with this," he told her. "This is the footage from Kate's last visit to Neal in prison. Neal wants to see it." Elisabeth walked over to their TV and started the DVD-player. Peter put the disk in the tray and they started watching.

Kate appeared serious and stern, Neal turned more and more desperate.

"I would've escaped, too, if you left me like that," Elisabeth commented. "It seems so cruel of her."

Peter agreed. There was something desperate over her, too. Why else leave the man she had been together with for at least six years like that? Peter was not sure when Neal and Kate became a pair, but he was quite certain they had been a couple for two years when he arrested Neal. Then she visited him in prison for almost four years. If she had left him within a year, Peter would not have been surprised, but three years and eight months and then dump him? What was she thinking? Why did she do it?

They watched the tape again. Was there anything in there but a cold-hearted woman and a devastated Neal?

"Do you think he should see this?" he asked El. She nodded.

"When he is prepared for it, maybe he sees how cruel she was, too. Or at least he'll get the closure he said he was looking for."

Someone was knocking on the door and Neal went to open it. It was Tuesday morning and he was getting ready to leave for the office. Peter was waiting outside.

"Good morning, Peter. Come in." He swung the door open and let his handler in. "Here to offer me a ride?"

Peter shook his head.

"No, you shall take the morning off. We have a situation at the office that I think you'd better pass."

"Situation?"

"Yeah, Barelli contacted the FBI this morning, asked for our help."

"Contacted how?"

"He sent his nephew to knock on the van," Peter grinned and Neal chuckled. "Talked to Jones. Barelli will be in the office soon and I would feel better if you were not there at the same time."

"I've had no business with Barelli," Neal objected. This sounded exciting. He did not want to miss it.

"I know, but Barelli is a true gangster and until we know what he wants, I don't want you involved." Peter's voice told Neal it was nothing to argue about and he sighed, defeated. "But, I have something for you, that I hope will compensate for the loss of a gangster meeting."

Neal eyed Peter and saw he was holding a CD. He frowned. Peter handed it over and he read his name written in pen on the front. It also said it came from Sing Sing prison.

"Kate?" he asked. Peter nodded. "Thanks, Peter!" He wanted to hug the man but held back the impulse. "Thank you."

"I'll call you when I want you to come to the office, alright?"

"Okay," Neal nodded in agreement, suddenly eager to stay at home. Peter smiled and left.

Neal grabbed the phone and called Mozzie and told him to come. Before his friend got there, he had already watched it twice on the laptop Mozzie had arranged for him the week before.

He started it a third time when Mozzie had sat down.

"It was nice of your FBI friend to give you this," Mozzie told him with a certain awe. Neal hushed him. "There's no sound. Why are you shushing me?" Neal was too focused on the film to bother to discuss it.

"Okay," Mozzie concentrated on the task at hand. "Does she always wear her hair parted that way?"

"Yeah. I'm way past that," Neal told him. "Wait. Her scarf is forming the letter M."

"Thirteenth letter in the alphabet," Mozzie informed him in an instant. "Thirteen is a prime."

"Thanks, Rain Man," Neal said and knew Moz was not comfortable with that comparison.

"Do you want my help, or-?" Neal interrupted him and pointed.

"There it is!" Kate had risen from the chair. Her right hand. The fingers. Neal zoomed in. "How's your Morse code?"

"B-O double T, L-E," Mozzie decoded.

"Bottle." There was only one bottle Neal could think of.

Hughes was sitting behind his desk with Peter standing beside him. On the other side sat Barelli, a man in Peter's own age, who had spent all his life on the wrong side of the law, done prison time too, but used the time to settle the foundation of his little empire. This was a man who had every reason to stay away from the FBI but smart enough to know they had nothing on him to keep him there against his will. Barelli represented everything Peter spent his life fighting. The mere fact that they could not bring charges at him made Peter repulsed.

"Last week… somebody walks into my church steals… the Bible," Barelli began.

"A Bible?" Peter asked, surprised that the man knew what a Bible was and would note if one was missing. "An actual Bible?"

"Yeah. You know, the flood, Abraham sacrifices Isaac. You heard of it?" Barelli sneered.

"Why do you want our help?" Hughes asked.

"I'm a taxpaying citizen."

"So?" Peter returned. "File a police report."

Barelli grinned at him.

"Come on, Burke. You got your guys sitting on me. It's part of the game, I know, but it means that I'm not free to…" He paused and brushed some invisible dust of his pants. "…find out who did this."

"Yeah, it means you're not free to bust heads until you do," Peter replied. Thank God we were sitting on him, he thought.

Barelli turned to Hughes.

"Do I have to take these accusations?" he asked and gestured towards Peter.

"Get to your point," Hughes commanded.

"This Bible it's not just some book that the Gideons leave on the nightstand," Barelli told them and for once looked serious. "This is five centuries of history from Naples. The saints prayed over this book."

Peter clenched his jaws and turned to watch the view over Manhattan. Two seconds later Hughes stood beside him.

"Your personal feelings for Barelli aside," he hissed, to keep their words private. "I don't need the archdiocese crawling down our necks because we refused to help recover a medieval Bible."

Peter nodded.

"Fine," he mumbled back. "But if Barelli asked for our help, he must really want it back." He turned back to the room and rounded the desk, near towering over Barelli.

"Let's get this straight here. You may go to confession once a week but the Bureau doesn't forgive sins," Peter stated. "We don't work for you."

Barelli got the point.

"What do you want?"

"Shut down your bookmaking operations at Masso's Club." As far as the Bureau knew, this was this gangster's major income. It would sting.

Barelli gave it ten seconds, gazing back into Peter's stern eyes. Then he smiled.

"Masso's. It's a restaurant." He rose. "See for yourself anytime. After Thursday," he added with a grin. Peter nodded to this. Barelli walked to the office door. He put his palms together. "Please. Please help me find my goddamn Bible."

The wine bottle Kate left in her apartment stood on the table between them. Neal stared at the label. Mozzie was drumming his fingers at the table's surface. Neal fought to focus on the bottle and not the rhythm. It did not go well. And Mozzie did not got the message with Neal's angry looks either.

"Please stop!" he burst, breaking the silence between them. Mozzie's hand became still on the table.

"It's part of my process," he complained. Neal did not care. He took the bottle in his hands. "Look, either you taught her too well or it's just a bottle," Mozzie told him and to Neal, it sounded as if he believed in the latter.

"It's more than that. This is the only thing Kate left me. There's a message here," Neal insisted. It had to be. Mozzie looked skeptical. Neal's phone rang. He put the bottle down and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"It's me," Peter replied. "I'm waiting outside. Ready?"

"Yeah, Peter. I'll be down in five."

"I'd rather see you'd be faster."

"Oh, okay. I'm coming right now."

Mozzie sighed across the table.

"Oh, the man interferes yet again," he pointed out. Mozzie would not likely ever understand why Neal's heart began to beat faster of excitement every time he was about to work with Peter.

"Can you please-?" Neal gestured towards the bottle.

"Yes. I'll take it back to the lab, run some tests," Moz agreed. Neal smiled at his friend.

"You don't have a lab. You have a storage unit."

"Semantics."

Neal rose.

"Thanks, Moz."

Neal put his hat and jacket on and left. Mozzie stayed and finished his coffee.