Disclaimer: The rights to White Collar belong to other people, not in any way to me.

A knock at the door, and Peter walked to it, watching Neal until the walls of the entryway blocked his vision. He heard the officer's voice on the other side of the door, though he didn't make out what the man was saying. He unlatched the door and opened it to the extent the chain would allow.

"The pizza's here, Agent Burke," the man said.

Peter unchained the door. "Come in here," he said, so he didn't have to have a conversation out of view of Neal for long. The officer entered, holding two pizza boxes. "Just set them down there, and have some dinner yourself. I'll be right outside, making a phone call."

Neal bounced to his feet, all solicitous, helping with the pizza boxes, clearing a space. "Remember to give her my message, Peter," he said. Peter ignored him. "Watch him," he told the officer. "Don't let him do . . ." both men looked at him expectantly. "Anything," he finished. At Neal's now-Peter-how-disappointing look, he added, "He can eat. That's all. I'll be right back."

Peter called Elle while standing in the hall right in front of the door. Since the surrounding rooms were empty, and he hadn't heard the guard's words distinctly even when he was just inside the door, he felt confident he wouldn't be overheard. He explained the situation to his wife.

"How is Neal taking it?" she asked.

"We've got him locked down so tight he can barely breathe, and it might still not be enough to keep him from ruining himself. I feel kind of crappy about it, Elle, but I know he's thinking of running. He wouldn't even promise me not to."

Elle paused before asking, "Peter you don't think he'd hurt anyone, do you? I mean there you all are with your guns and your guards, but you're the first one he has to get past."

Peter smiled, glad that he could honestly reassure her. "No, I don't. Please don't worry."

"Well, I wouldn't," she said, sounding apologetic, "I mean, I've met him and I like him . . ."

The elevator farther down the hall dinged and a family of three emerged, studied the hallway signs, and turned away from Peter to trundle down the far hall.

"Everyone always likes him, that's the problem. But, no, I don't want you to worry about that at all. I followed his escapades for years and the worst thing I ever knew him to do was that one time he left a security guard tied up with duct tape in a comfy chair in front of a tv, remember?"

He could hear her smile. "I remember you said he put the tv on the channel the man wanted to watch."

Peter nodded. "And then he called the authorities as soon as he was away to tell them to go untie the guy." If anything, Peter was more concerned that Neal would try something boneheaded and get hurt. He decided not to mention that to Elle. He preferred having her worry about him.

"I'd much rather have him on our team," he told her. "It's such a waste. All this manpower and money. We were just getting started on a new case. You know, I could swear he likes being cleverer than the criminals we put away. It's not just that he's enjoying being out of prison. But whatever it is about Kate . . ."

"Love?" she teased. His wife, the secret romantic.

"Whatever. I've played every card I've got. The only thing I can think of he might love more than Kate is the fun of pulling cons and being smarter than other criminals, and I already offer him opportunities for that. But if that's not enough, I've got nothing."

"You can't give him the high life that he craves, Honey."

"No, I can't. But I know him pretty well, Elle, and I have a feeling . . ."

"What?"

Peter searched down the hall for other people, as if he were telling secrets. He lowered his voice. "He's planning to run, I know it. But honestly I think he could have slipped the leash half a dozen times by now. I have a feeling he's looking for an excuse not to do it."

"I'll be crossing my fingers for you both. Do you have to stay up all night?"

Peter glanced at his watch. Time to get back in there. "I should. You call any time, I'm sure I'll need it. Oh, Neal said to tell you he's sorry for taking me away from you again."

"Well, he should be. You take care of him."

"I'm doing my best."

They pledged their mutual love and ended the call.

The two of them sat on their beds, Neal on the one nearest the window, Peter cuddling up to the empty pizza boxes. Peter regarded Neal in silence while Neal watched TV, commenting to Peter as if Peter knew anything about the show that was on. "That one's really nice. Kind of inspired by Carol Hannah's season one collection, though. I hope they don't think it's too derivative, because I think it's an improvement." Neal lay on his bed on his stomach, propped on his elbows on the elaborate counterpane at the foot of his bed. "Aw, they cut him, but they kept that guy? He should never have made it to the final five. His dress was inspired by what? Boulders?" He had the volume on Project Runway up obscenely high in Peter's opinion, but since they had no neighbors, he didn't object.

Peter thought about Neal. For all that Peter once made himself into the world's expert on Neal Caffrey, art thief and forger, he found the flesh and blood reality – as opposed to the virtual construct he'd created – compelling. He'd once studied so many security videos and clandestine still shots that he knew Caffrey's face like his own wife's, but other than his arrest and trial Peter'd had little taste of the man's voice, soft and gracious. His expressions – teasing or intent, his movements – graceful, controlled but restless.

He thought about Neal's claim that he needed privacy for masturbation. Even if it was only another attempt to manipulate Peter and the immediate environment, it added to Peter's surreal new sense of Neal Caffrey as a living, breathing – if not exactly ordinary – man. He waited politely for a commercial and when Neal muted the TV, he asked, "Thought you had a girlfriend."

Neal turned a properly astonished expression on him. "What? Why?"

Peter thought about his facts before elaborating. "At first you visited the bars and nightclubs within range of your anklet. Then you stopped." Right around the time they nailed Ghovat. Something had changed. Peter hoped it meant Neal had found a girl.

"You checked my tracker?" Neal sounded resigned.

"I told you. Every day. What happened? You didn't charm some girl into your life?"

"Peter, does it occur to you that my love life might not be any of your business?"

"It is if I think it's important."

"Do you?"

Peter mulled it over. If Neal was looking for a woman, it meant that he'd accepted that Kate had dumped him. Neal was a romantic. Normally Peter would assume he'd seek out love, not just sex. On the other hand, he'd just spent four years in prison with only one conjugal visit allowed per year. "Could you just answer a question? Why did you stop going out?"

Neal shrugged. "Maybe I got what I needed." His smile managed to be lascivious, which meant it had nothing to do with that, after all. Interesting. Peter set aside his previous theories, and reconsidered.

"Something happened," he mused. "Right around the time we put Ghovat away. Kate had walked out on you. You were a free man." At Neal's raised eyebrow, he added, "Romantically, anyway. But then you stopped acting free. If you didn't find a girlfriend …" Peter had it. "You heard from Kate. She contact you?"

Neal rolled his eyes and took the mute off the TV. The show was back on, at full volume.

Peter pressed anyway, raising his voice to be heard. "Did you hear from Kate?"

"Peter, you're the one who made staying away from Kate a condition of my probation. I told you, the bottle meant good-bye."

"That's not an answer," Peter said, fixing a hard gaze on Neal.

"I have not heard from Kate," Neal said, but he didn't meet Peter's eyes.