"Hold the door!"

Neal's hand shot out between the sliding elevator doors, causing them to pause in their movement before sliding back open. Jones smiled and stepped inside beside the ex-con.

"Thanks man." The door slid closed once more and the elevator began moving steadily upwards.

"No problem. New case?" Neal said hopefully, gesturing at the files clutched in the young agent's hands.

Jones smiled at him sympathetically. "Mortgage fraud. Sorry." He laughed as the other man groaned.

"More? At this rate I'm going to be tempted to steal something just so a more interesting case pops up!"

Smiling, Jones shook his head. "Well, as fun as I'm sure it would be to chase the elusive Neal Caffery, I wouldn't suggest it-" He was cut off. At that moment, the lights in the elevator flickered and a harsh creaking noise filled the space. Within moments, the lights were off, and the elevator had stopped moving.

"Oh God, oh God," Jones leapt forward, blindly stabbing at buttons in a futile attempt to fix whatever had happened.

"Huh." Neal seemed completely unaffected by the new development. "Well that's weird."

"Stay calm Neal, everything's going to be alright." Neal couldn't help but feel like Jones was talking more to himself than the con, but chose not to mention it just yet. "I'm sure this will be fixed in a moment so just stay calm!"

"Uh huh…" pulling out his phone, Neal was pleasantly surprised to see that he still had service inside the malfunctioning machine.

Jones, seeing what he was doing, began rambling even more. "Yes! Good idea, Neal. Call, uh, call 911! No wait, call maintenance! Do you have their number? No? Then we could just, could just-"

"Breath, Jones. In through your nose, out through your mouth." Neal commented nonchalantly, already dialing.

After a few rings, a familiar voice picked up. "Neal?"

"Hey Peter! You busy?"

"No, just filing some paperwork. Where are you anyways? Are you late again?"

"You sound so accusing when you say that. I've been late twice, and once was when you were driving me!"

"Oh, so you're going to blame me?"

"For that time, yes. And all I'm saying is you could give me the benefit of the doubt. Sometimes I'm late because of circumstances that are outside of my control and-"

"NEAL!"

Turning, the man saw Jones staring at him with an incredulous look on his face. Gesturing to their surroundings, Neal immediately understood and returned to his conversation.

"Neal? Was that Jones?"

"Yeah, yeah, he was just reminding me why I called in the first place. We're both going to be late. We're trapped in an elevator."

Jones put his head in his hands at the word 'trapped'. Neal patted him on the shoulder, "Remember to breathe, dude."

"Wait," Peter sounded concerned now. "you're trapped in an elevator? What happened?"

"No clue. Just up and stopped on us. I think we're between the ninth and tenth floors."

He could hear shuffling and movement through the phone as Peter responded. "Alright, I get maintenance to take a look."

"Thanks. And…" Neal glanced at Jones, who was now sitting on the ground with his head resting on his knees. "…could you maybe hurry? I think Jones might be a little claustrophobic."

"On it." Hearing the dial tone, Neal placed his phone back in his pocket and went to sit next to the FBI agent.

Rubbing his friend's back soothingly, Neal asked, "Are you alright?"

"Fine, fine. Just… I've never been too good with small spaces."

"Well, this isn't too bad. I mean, as far as elevators go this one's pretty roomy."

"I know, and it's ridiculous really, but I can't help it."

Neal smiled. "It's okay. Everyone's afraid of something."

Jones looked up at him curiously. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by Neal's phone ringing. The con answered quickly. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me again." Peter. Neal switched the phone to speaker. "The mechanic is looking at it. Says the problem is a simple fix but it'll still take about half an hour to get you guys out again." The senior agent heard a groan. "You guys gonna be able to hold up?"

Neal looked questioningly at Jones, who smiled and shook his head. "I'll be fine. I wont be happy, but I'll be fine."

"Good." Peter responded. "What about you Neal?"

Confusion painted the criminal's features. "What about me?"

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Of course."

Jones looked at him strangely. "I don't get it. Aren't ex-cons practically known for being claustrophobic? Why aren't you freaking out?"

Neal shrugged. "That's just a stereotype. And I've never had a problem with small spaces. When I was little, I used to hide in my closet a lot."

"Why?" Peter asked. Neal had almost forgotten that the older agent was still listening. Tilting his head to the side, the artist took a moment to consider how much he wanted to reveal, if anything at all. Finally, he shrugged again and started speaking. They were his friends, after all.

It started simply enough. He was three years old, and there was a storm outside. He had no problem with the thunder, the low rumbling more soothing than scary, but the lightning was the worst. With each flash of light, shadows would appear throughout the room, turning innocent toys into frightening monsters.

He wanted his mommy, he wanted her to hold him and sing to him until he could fall asleep. But his parents' room was all the way down the hallway, and he was too scared to go all by himself in the dark. So, quickly making up his mind, he scurried off his bed and into his small closet.

There wasn't much there. A few jackets were hanging, but he kept most of his clothes in his dresser, and his toys were in a chest next to his bed. The space was comforting. The door blocked out most of the flashes of light from the storm, and in the darkness there was no shadows. He was asleep within minutes.

As he grew older, he honed his skills at hiding. Small for his age, he had no problem slipping into the space between the sports shed and the gym at school to escape from bullies. He would curl up in cabinets during games of hide and seek. But the closet was still his safe place.

His parents started fighting when he was eight, and by the time he was ten they were going at it almost every night. No matter how many times he told himself that he was being stupid, that he wasn't a baby any more, that he should be stronger than this, he still got scared whenever it happened.

There was just something so wrong, about the way his father's voice, normally so low and gentle, would shake the house with his yelling. And how his mother's voice, which he was use to being so soft and which sang him songs at night, would shriek and scream. They sounded so angry.

And so he would curl up in his closet. The door would muffle their hateful words, and in the small space he could see everything. There was no place for anyone or anything to hide. He was certain in his safety.

Sometimes, after the screaming had stopped, his mother would come to his room and call for him.

"Baby?" The first time, it took her a few minutes to find him, but once she did, the tears that she thought had stopped started anew. "Oh, sweetie…" And her son looked up at her with his big blue eyes, reached up, and tugged her hand. Soon, they were both curled up in his closet, his mother's voice soft and singing again, and they both took a few minutes to just feel safe.

"…not to mention, small spaces come in handy as an art thief." Neal smirk slyly, "Or so I've heard. Sometimes if you're being chased you just have to throw yourself into the first available space, and you can't afford to freak out or make noise. Besides, if a space is small, it means no one can get in without you knowing, so you don't have to worry about sneak attacks."

Jones was looking at Neal with a mixture of surprise and something else that the con couldn't put his finger on, while Peter had gone silent on the other end of the line.

Finally, Peter spoke hesitantly. "So… what did your parents fight about?"

Neal raised an eyebrow, and was about to respond when the elevator suddenly lurched. Jones let out a small shriek before the lights flickered back on and the machine began moving up once more. The ex-con smiled. "That's a story for another day, partner."

The two men in the elevator stood up, standing side by side again and sighing in relief. "So you managed to survive, eh Jones?"

Laughing, the other man shook his head. "Yeah, yeah. You're story actually helped a lot."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I realized something." Jones smiled. "Small spaces aren't nearly as scary when there's someone waiting for you on the other side, you know?"

For a moment, the image of his mother flashed in Neal's mind. But just then, the elevator doors opened, revealing Peter smiling at the both of them.

"Yeah," Neal smiled softly, "I know what you mean."

Holy crap! I am so so SO sorry this took so long to update! School's been crazy lately, and I just couldn't find the time. XP I'm on spring break now though, so I'm gonna do my best to get a lot of writing done, this story included.

As far as this chapter goes, I'm actually okay with how it turned out. I'm starting to ease into the more serious stuff, most specifically Neal's family/ childhood. Let me know what you think so far! (Good, bad, worst, FLAMING BANSHEES!)

Sorry again, and thanks to those who haven't given up on me yet! xoxo ~BFMS