I would like to give a huge thank you for all the people that read and reviewed my story so far! Thank you!

And I would like to give a smaller thank you to the people for just reading! Thank you.

love ya all!

Here is my new un-beta'd chapter! Enjoy!

"I overestimated his loyalty to you. I'm not going to get my treasure," Keller said, looking regretful for a moment, then smiled sadistically at Neal. "But our time together wasn't completely waisted." He pulled a gun from the waistband of his pants and pulled out the magazine and casually checked the number of bullets.

Neal could feel his heart beating erratically in his chest as he watched Keller. 'This is it,' Neal thought to himself as Keller put the magazine back into the gun and slid a bullet into the chamber. 'Peter isn't going to bust down the door at the last second this time. I'm going to die.'

Neal didn't blame Peter - just the opposite. He knew that the agent tried his best to find him. He couldn't just give the treasure over - if he even knew where it was - the higher ups wouldn't have let him.

"Burke's never gonna come. He doesn't care about you," Keller said and aimed the gun at Neal. "You're no use to anyone anymore." He took the safety off the gun. "Goodbye, Neal Caffrey." Keller pulled the trigger and the bullet sailed through the air.

WCWCWCWC

Neal jerked a little when he woke, but resisted moving anymore. He didn't want to attract any unwanted attention. He could feel that he was no longer sitting up, but had no idea where he could be now.

He quickly took inventory of his surroundings without opening his eyes. Scratchy sheets, sterile air, annoying beeping sound, vague itchy feeling in the hollow of his elbow, strange drugged up feeling, muffled sounds of activity, and strangely enough, almost no pain. All of this could only mean one thing: he was in a hospital.

Was he rescued? That can't be right. He didn't remember being rescued.

Was Keller shooting him just a dream? It seemed so real, like it really happened. He heard somewhere that if you vividly remember your dreams then you enjoyed them. But there was nothing about that dream that he enjoyed. intellectual idiots.

But he wasn't dead, either. Or at least he didn't think he was.

Neal risked opening his eyes and saw that, yes, he was in a hospital. Not in either hell he thought seemed more likely for him to be in.

An image suddenly flashed in Neal's mind; Peter opening the door that kept him from freedom. A smell from a memory; Peter's cologne all around him, embracing him in warmth. A sensation; the feeling of being safe, of knowing that someone was there to help him, to rescue him.

Peter did rescue him, he just doesn't remember very much of it. A wave of relief washed over him. It was over.

The next thing that popped into Neal's head was 'where's Peter?' And like he was waiting outside until just the right moment, Peter walked in, and when he saw that Neal was awake he smiled widely.

"Hey, you're awake," Peter said as he walked over to the bed and sat down in one of the chairs that were next to the bed.

"You don't get enough credit for your deductive skills," Neal said with a smile.

"Well, I'm not in it for the recognition," Peter replied proudly. "How you feeling?"

'Safe' would probably be the best way to describe what he was feeling, but instead he went with "better."

Peter nodded. "Good," he said, but the look in his eyes said that he knew exactly what Neal didn't tell him.

There was a mostly compatible silence for a minute and Neal's eyes wandered to his body. He couldn't see his chest because of the hospital gown, but could feel that his abdomen was wrapped to help support his ribs that were probably cracked or broken. There was most likely bandages underneath for the various cuts as well. Both of his wrists were wrapped in gauze, as were all of his fingertips on his left hand. His left thumb and right index finger had splints on them and Neal was afraid to ask Peter if his finger would heal. He knew that dislocated thumbs healed, so he wasn't worried about that. Besides, that was his left hand. It wasn't the hand he uses to create.

Neal couldn't help but stare at it, hoping that he could still be able to paint and sculpt and pick locks with ease like he used to.

Peter noticed where Neal's gaze was drawn to and he heaved a sigh. He looked like he was about to tell Neal that someone close to him just died and Neal's heart sank. If Peter says 'I'm sorry for your loss' Neal might just cry.

"You'll regain full function, but it'll take time," Peter said and Neal released the breath he wasn't aware he was holding. It was such a tremendous relief to know that Keller didn't permanently cripple him.

That line of thinking brought Neal to his next question. "What happened to Keller?"

Peter looked at him questionably. "We arrested him. I told you that already. Do you not remember?"

"I don't remember much of the rescue," Neal said. "Just bits and pieces."

Peter nodded in understanding, but still looked worried. Knowing him, he was probably was making a mental note in his head to talk to the doctor about that later to make sure that it was normal.

"What else?" Neal asked and nodded vaguely at himself.

Peter heaved another sigh. "Three broken ribs and one cracked one. Like I said, your finger will heal, and so will your thumb. Keller didn't hit anything important when he stabbed your foot, and it'll heal, too. You have a concussion from Keller pistol-whipping you. The cuts on your chest were shallow, so they were just stitched up. Your wrists were in bad shape and the doctors think they'll scar a little." It almost looked physically painful for Peter to list Neal injuries. "I'm so sorry, Neal," Peter said hoarsely. It was obvious by the look on his face that he blamed himself for not getting to Neal soon enough and prevent some of the things that happened to him.

Neal took Peter's hand and looked him straight in his eyes. "Peter, it's not your fault. I don't blame you," he said slowly and sincerely. "Keller did this, not you."

"But I didn't get to you quick enough."

"But you did save me, eventually. And I'm not dead. I'd say that's a win," Neal said. "How did you find me anyway?" Neal had no idea if Peter found Mozzie and got him to give the treasure to Keller or not.

"Mozzie helped a lot. And so did you. Turns out that you were being held at an old bread making factory." Well, that didn't really answer his question, but he didn't want to ask Peter about the treasure. Who knows what that conversation would bring up.

"That's why I smelt bread," Neal said. "Did you arrest anyone else?" The only other people he remembered seeing was 'Snake' and 'Erkle'.

"Yeah, some young kid in suspenders. We found out he accidentally bumped into one of the machines and turned it on at some point. That's probably why you only smelt anything then."

"Erkle," Neal murmured.

"What was that?" Peter asked.

"I saw him. I also saw another man," Neal said.

"Do you think you could give someone his description?"

"Yeah," Neal said. If it was any other time Neal probably would have drawn it himself, but he wouldn't be able to draw much for a while, with either hand.

"Mozzie's been worried about you," Peter said. "He even said he would brave the germ infested hospital to see you. He should be around soon. But no planning any jail brakes with him," Peter said with a smirk, probably for old times sake, but what he said hit Neal like a ton of bricks. It was all the confirmation he needed. He was going to jail.

He had already had a sinking suspicion that he was going back, but now he really knew.

At least Peter seemed fine with Mozzie still wandering about. It appears that his friend won't go down with him and that was an immense relief.

Neal wondered why he didn't have cuffs on, but really didn't want to ask. Maybe that's why Peter was there - to watch him, to make sure he doesn't escape before they ship him back to prison. He could feel that he didn't have the anklet on either, so having Peter there to guard him was even more plausible.

Neal isn't going to try and run though. He's so tired of running. He'll stay and accept his punishment, even if that means going back to prison.

"When can I getting out of here?" Neal asked. He almost asked 'When am I going back to prison?', but he figured it would be easier for both of them not to talk about where he was going after he left the hospital. Peter seemed content to pretend that he wasn't putting his friend behind bars.

Friends? Is that what they were? Before the Nazi plunder Neal would have said yes right away. Now, now he doubted that's what Peter thought of him. It's probably what will make throwing him in prison easier.

Peter seemed to have a strange amount of guilt for someone that betrayed him though. He probably felt bad about Neal getting hurt, but he knew that he still deserved to go to prison for what he did. That was Peter, FBI agent 'til the end.

"Well, the doctors wanted to keep you here at least over night for observation for your concussion and they wanted to make sure you were plenty hydrated as well. They're also worried about infection, but they have you on some antibiotics to help with that," Peter said, but Neal wasn't really listening anymore.

Neal didn't want to go back, but he was already sick of the fake pleasant conversations. He didn't know why Peter was being so nice if he was just going back to jail in a few days, probably never to be visited by the agent. It would be painful at first, but he would get used to it, eventually. Hopefully.

Mozzie wouldn't visit. He didn't last time, so now he definitely won't now that the FBI knows who he is, more or less. And Peter may not let him walk free for much longer, so he'll probably be out of the country by the end of the week.

Peter wouldn't let Elizabeth visit, even if she wanted to, which Neal doubted she would. He lied to everyone. Well, he didn't lie, he omitted, but it was still a lie.

Neal doesn't think Sara will visit. She chose her path and he chose his. Looking back, he wished he never knew about the treasure. Or the music box. All it brought him was pain and guilt.

Alex didn't visit last time either and won't this time. That's just who they are.

June would probably ashamed of him for lying to everyone, herself included. She may have waited for Byron, but she won't do the same for someone like himself.

Neal survived the first four years because of Kate visiting him every week. Now he had no one to look forward to see once a week. No one to be strong for. He knew he deserved to be exiled, but he didn't know if he could make it that long without seeing a familiar face.

'What's the sentencing for knowing about seventy year old nazi plunder that wasn't supposed to exist anymore?' Neal wondered to himself. It probably wasn't something a judge deals with every day, so it's hard to know how long he'll be there. Could it be ten years? Twenty? Four seemed like an eternity, so one to two decades would probably be hell.

"Neal?" Peter's voice brought Neal back to the present.

"Yeah?" Neal asked, pretending that he didn't zone out for some unknown number of minutes.

Peter watched him closely. Finally he patted Neal's knee, picked up a newspaper that was on the table by the bed and leaned back, looking like he was ready to sit through a long and boring stakeout. "You look tired. Why don't you rest and we'll talk more later." He opened the newspaper to the crosswords and started reading the first riddle.

Neal was tired, whether it was from the drugs that were no doubt in his system or the beyond stressful day, he wasn't sure, but soon he drifted off, knowing he was safer than he had been for what seemed like a long time. He just wished it would last.

Sorry, no happily-ever-after yet! Just wait, one of the boys will come to their senses.

I believe that Neal did the right thing when he didn't tell Peter about the treasure, but in my story, Neal is convinced that he was wrong to lie to Peter. I just wanted people to know where I stand with that being as I'm making Neal think the opposite. He couldn't have told Peter and not have himself or Mozzie go to jail.