The first three days of the new business week flew by as far as Peter was concerned. There was a flurry of activity around the Wentworth Gallery thefts. The curator's information had produced a sizeable list of contractors – building and security – and they all needed to be run down, people interviewed, backgrounds checked. There were some intriguing leads, but no smoking gun yet.

That just meant that even more digging was required.

So far, none of the various street sources – the Bureau's or Neal's – had heard of any rumored sales of newly acquired ancient Egyptian artifacts, so the motive for the theft remained murky as well. It wasn't all that common for a collector to perform his or her own break-ins, which left the scenario that an independent party had performed the job. But for that to be worth the risk, the perpetrators would need to have a buyer available.

Neal had been out in the field with Jones or Diana most of the time, either looking at other security systems designed by the gallery's contractor, or running down some off the record resources. Peter figured he had a pretty good idea where the tips on most of those sources came from – but 'Haversham' had been, somewhat understandably, reluctant to get actively involved with investigations since being shot and nearly killed.

Meanwhile, Peter had divided his time between following some leads himself, prioritizing new cases that wound up on his desk – and making increasingly desperate attempts to get answers from Washington. But if anything, the stone wall they had been hitting seemed higher and more impregnable than ever.

No such thing as impregnable.

Neal's words came back to him, in a grim way. And the fact was, Neal had resources – Mozzie – who could accomplish things that the Bureau simply couldn't through official channels.

It was time to tell Neal, and Hughes finally agreed.

He'd do it after the staff briefing on Thursday.

"So, how did it go?"

Neal closed the door and looked over at his visitor. "Are we eliminating the 'societal norms of greeting´completely then?"

"Fine. Hello, Neal."

"Hi, Mozzie."

"And now I repeat, how did it go?"

Neal dropped his jacket over the chair back, poured a glass of wine, and sat down at the table. "Your street sources were accommodating, but not very helpful in this case."

"Those artifacts are quite specific."

"You haven't heard anything?"

"I have inquiries out to everyone I know who deals in the old stuff."

Neal coughed a bit on some wine. "Old stuff. Yeah, I guess that describes it." Though in his mind, calling precious antiquities 'old stuff' bordered on the sacrilegious…

Mozzie dismissed that with a wave of his hand. "Yes, well, you said this might be connected to Pittsburgh, right?"

"There was a similar theft, yes."

"I have expanded my search – friends of friends and all. It's going to cost you a few bottles of wine."

Neal nodded at the nearly empty glass in front of the other man. "It always does."

Mozzie responded by draining his glass and reaching for the bottle to refill it. "A small price to pay," he intoned, taking a sip. "Although why you want to keep trying to help the Suits at this point is beyond me. And given my considerable intelligence and abilities, it takes quite a bit to be beyond me."

"I take it that you haven't found the mystery man yet."

"No. Though helping you with this case has taken my time away from that pursuit."

"I know, Moz. And I appreciate both." Neal got up, taking his wine with him, and headed for the patio. He could hear footsteps behind him as his friend followed. "I know it's hard to understand, Moz. But I need to keep doing my job. I gave my word. And after Peter put so much on the line for me after the whole deal with Fowler and the gun…"

"Your noble streak is going to be the death of you, my friend," Mozzie said softly.

Neal smiled and raised his goblet. "You may be right."

"You're sure the Suit – as in Peter – is not behind this."

It didn't escape Neal's notice that Mozzie made that a statement, not a question. "Yeah, I'm sure now," he replied. "Peter's not that good at keeping a secret, Moz. He's upset – mad, even – not guilty."

Mozzie rolled his eyes theatrically, clearly indicating his opinion on that topic, but he let it slide. "All right, I'll accept that for now. How did the class go?"

"Interesting," Neal started, leaning over the balcony and looking out over the city. The lights at night always fascinated him. "It's actually quite fascinating all the reasons that people don't finish high school."

"Was dropping out to go to Europe and case the Mona Lisa high on the list?"

Neal laughed. "Oddly enough, no one mentioned that one," he admitted. "And for the record, I was not casing the Mona Lisa. Though it would have been quite a coup."

"Well, I don't know why anyone even wants to go to the Louvre anymore, not with that glass monstrosity out front."

"Oh, I don't know," Neal said wistfully. "I was kind of hoping to see it again someday."

"I have your starter cash on hand," Mozzie offered. "Any time you want to…"

"I'm not ready to run, Moz."

"But you do realize that if you go back inside, your life expectancy drops dramatically."

"Yes, Moz, I know." Neal paused for another drink – of wine, and of the city. "Keep the cash handy," he said quietly. "If it comes to that, there may not…"

"Be much warning," Mozzie finished. "I know."

There was silence then, as both old friends stood at the railing, watching the city.

"You're really going to do this GED thing?" Mozzie finally asked.

Neal smiled in the darkness. "Sure, why not? The FBI is paying for it, and it might be fun."

"You never thought you needed a piece of paper before."

"True. But I'm curious where they think this might lead."

"No clue yet?"

"None. But I have to admit, I have had more pressing matters on my mind. The GED just seems kind of extra right now."

"Neal Caffrey, high school graduate."

"Has a ring to it, huh?"

"One more step down the slippery slope to respectability, my friend."

"Scary, huh?"

"Mortifying."

"We live in interesting times, Moz."

"We do indeed."

The team briefing was done, the assignments handed out. Peter drew in a deep breath – now or never, and never was not an option.

"All right, that's it on the Wentworth," he said. "Let's try to break something on this." The others started gathering up their materials while Peter hesitated. "Neal… stay a minute, all right?"

Neal met his eyes, and Peter knew the other man understood this was not about the case at hand. "Maybe Diana and Jones should stay," Neal suggested.

The two junior agents paused, confused, looking to Peter for guidance. He finally set his jaw and nodded. This would affect them too, after all, one way or another.

Now if he only knew where to start…

Diana finally broke the uncomfortable silence. "Peter, what is it?"

Peter closed the door slowly and started to speak, but no words came out. It was Neal who finally answered. "He's trying to figure out how to tell us that the funding for consultants has been cut, and my contract is void as of January 1."

"What?" The single word came from both Diana and Jones in unison.

It was Peter's question that took priority though. "How… how did you know?"

"I saw the file in your desk."

Peter's fists clenched as he considered those words. "My desk was locked," he said. "My office was locked!"

Neal shrugged, his expression clearly saying that Peter should know those were no impediments. "There was obviously something wrong, Peter, and you wouldn't say anything."

"Oh, so you just broke in."

"Sometimes you need to be saved from yourself, Peter."

Peter's sharp retort was cut off when he noticed his junior agents nodding in agreement. "What? You agree?"

"You do keep too much inside sometimes, boss," Diana said.

"We might have been able to help," Jones added.

Peter sank back into his chair. "I was trying to get answers before I said anything," he explained. "How long have you known?"

"The day after the budget meeting," Neal admitted.

"I'm getting video surveillance put in," Peter threatened. "And I'm getting an office safe," he added under his breath.

"That would make it slightly more challenging," Neal said.

"Is there money for a safe?" Jones asked, a definite note of sarcasm in his voice.

"Oh yeah," Peter responded. "With the right paperwork, I can get a safe. I can get a new office chair, a computer, a desk. I can get my office painted, for crying out loud!" He realized his voice had risen and he paused, taking a deep breath. "I just can't figure out how to keep Neal here after the end of the year."

"But if it's just a funding thing, can't we work around it?" Diana asked. "I mean, would June waive the payment she gets?"

"It's not that simple," Neal answered. "The second release I signed is tied directly to that fund."

Peter nodded in agreement. "I knew it was different than the first one," he admitted. "It just didn't seem like an important difference at the time. Neal, if I had had any idea…"

"I know, Peter. I didn't see it as important at the time either."

"Wait, the release is tied to this specific fund?" Jones asked.

Peter nodded. "And now it's being eliminated."

"A rather last minute change too," Neal added.

"It was messengered to Hughes late the night before the budget meeting," Peter confirmed. "No explanation. And no one is answering our calls!" He slammed his hand on the table in frustration.

"There's a kill switch in place."

"A what?"

"There's a tracker in the Bureau's computer system that pops up a flag when my name is queried," Neal explained. "Mozzie called it a kill switch. If the inquiry comes from within this office, you just get silence. If it's somewhere else, they get a call telling them not to pursue the inquiry."

"And how long have you known this?" Peter asked.

"A few days."

"And you didn't say anything?"

"Peter, you wouldn't even admit there was a problem."

"Wait, there's a bigger question here," Diana cut in. "Who's getting this flag?"

"Mozzie hasn't been able to track that down yet," Neal admitted.

Jones let out a low whistle. "Man, someone with enough clout to shut down inquiries on an official system like that? And hide his tracks?"

Peter was watching Neal closely. "You think it's the man behind Larrsen?"

Neal shrugged. "I think it's a good possibility. We know that's someone with enough power to get people assigned to OPR, among other things, is pulling the strings. And this kind of set up takes a lot of clout."

"Well, all right," Diana said. "Neal's agreement is tied to this fund. Can't we just set up a new agreement in January?"

Again, Peter shook his head. "Not according to Legal. I had one of the lawyers review the agreement, and she can't find a way around it."

"Well, so what happens on January 1st then?" Jones asked.

"Neal's probation is revoked," Peter said softly.

"I go back to prison," Neal added.

"That's just so wrong," Diana said. "I mean, granted, Neal has done some things that I would gladly have put his ass in jail for at the time. But when you look at what he's done overall, and especially these last few months…" She paused, shaking her head. "I just don't see how they can justify this."

"I don't think whoever's behind this cares about case closure rates," Peter said.

"No, my 'ass in jail' seems to be the goal," Neal agreed.

"So what's the bottom line?" Jones was studying a calendar. "How much longer on the escape sentence?"

"Twenty one months." Peter's reply was quick and sure.

"So seventeen months by January." Jones was shaking his head. "Damn, that's a chunk of time."

"It's not just the seventeen months," Neal said quietly. "I mean, I did almost four years the first time. But I wasn't known as a FBI informant then."

"You'd be in danger from Day One," Peter said.

"It might come down to whether I could arrange protection quickly enough," Neal agreed. "And protection for a FBI informant… well, that might cost more than I can pay." There was a hitch in his normally fluid voice as he finished.

"Money?" Diana asked.

"Not money," Peter guessed sadly.

"No, not money," Neal confirmed, staring down at his hands on the table. "Money only goes so far inside. There are other forms of 'currency' in play."

"Oh, shit," Jones said, summing up the feeling for all of them. "When you were in before…"

"I arranged protection. And you can act shocked if you want, or disgusted, or whatever. But I pretty much set the terms and really, it wasn't that bad. I mean, it's just sex. And it kept me safe from the gang stuff. Protecting a known FBI informer though…"

"I can request administrative segregation," Peter said. "Given your background, it has to be approved."

Neal finally looked up, meeting Peter's eyes. "Do you know what you're saying, Peter? That means locked up for twenty three hours a day, with no one – no one - there. It would kill me a little every day. Honestly, a quick shiv in the back would be more humane."

"Neal…"

"Promise me, Peter. Promise you won't request ad seg."

The pain in Neal's eyes was too much to stand up to, and Peter gave in, nodding. "I won't."

"Well, I'm not just accepting that prison is inevitable," Diana said. "We still have time to figure something out."

"Are you thinking about running?" Jones asked quietly.

Neal looked at the three of them and gave a half shrug. "Even assuming, hypothetically, that I was, it would be kind of silly to discuss it with three FBI agents."

Peter hesitated for just a moment, and then he reached for his badge, hiding it under the folders in front of him. Taking a cue from their boss, Diana and Jones quickly followed suit. "No badges," he said. "Nothing you say the next few minutes goes beyond this room."

"OK, here's the deal," Neal started slowly. "Everyone thinks that running sounds like an easy solution, but it's not. It's hard work. You always have to be on guard, always wondering who might be a danger to you. Who might have just seen your picture on one of those TV shows. And running means leaving everything, and everyone, behind." He paused, searching for the words he wanted. "It wasn't easy running before, when you were chasing me Peter. I mean, it was easier, because Kate was a part of that life and would run with me. But now… Now, I'm kind of used to having you guys around. And June, and El. Mozzie. Running means I'd have to leave all of you behind. And what I do here. No one's more surprised than me, but I really like it. Maybe not the cold case mortgage frauds so much, but most of it. And you know, I was just realizing the other day, I've spent more time living at June's than any other one place since I was six years old – well, except for prison, that is. That's something else I'd lose." He stopped, taking a couple of deep breaths. "So, you asked if I was thinking about running. And the answer is yes, I'm thinking about it. But it's really not that easy to decide to do."

For a long moment, no one said anything. Finally, Diana spoke up. "So what do we do next?"

"I'll put together a list of what Hughes and I have tried," Peter said. "You can look at it and see if you have any other ideas. But don't actually try anything yourselves," he warned his junior agents. "Get it to me or Hughes, that way you have deniability."

"There's another question though," Neal said. "I can tell you, honestly, that I can continue to do the job, and not let this interfere. Well, the last week of December might be iffy, but until then anyway." He paused, looking at each of them in turn. "No decision I make will intentionally endanger any of you. But you need to think about it, all of this, and decide if you can trust me to keep working with you. If not, January doesn't really matter."

"Well, I wouldn't necessarily trust you with my jewels, if I had any," Diana said.

"Or my girlfriend," Jones added.

"But I, for one, would trust you to have my back when it counted," Peter said.

Jones and Diana nodded in agreement.

Peter stood up, retrieving his badge and gathering up his files. "All right, let's get back to work on this Wentworth case."

"I'd like to contact Dr. Hunt," Neal said. "She might have some insight on who's collecting this kind of thing, or if the pieces are especially significant."

"Give her a call," Peter agreed. "If she's available, we can drive up to Ithaca tomorrow."

"I will. Thanks."

Peter opened the door and walked out, and the others started to follow. But Neal stopped Jones at the door. "You have a girlfriend?"

"No, not at the moment," the agent admitted reluctantly. "But if I did, I wouldn't trust you with her."

Despite the dire discussion that had just taken place, all Neal could do was laugh.