Back at the Bureau, Peter secluded himself in his office and worked his way through cold case files. Around lunch time, Diana picked up the courage to knock at his door to ask about the meeting with Neal.

The older agent sighed. "I tried to talk to him, But I'm afraid he isn't willing to cooperate with the FBI, namely with me, anymore. Although, part of me can understand his reluctance, I wish I knew how to get through to him. It's not..." He fell in silence thinking himself back to the encounter with Caffrey earlier on. "He's not well. I don't know who's after him, whether it's the guards, the inmates, or either of them. He's injured and looks wretched. He would be better off by far at the Bureau. Those blue eyes have lost their shine; they seem like a pile of glass shards"

Diana was concerned, trying to problem-solve. "Have you talked to any of his friends, yet? Or maybe I could talk some sense into him?"

"I tried to contact Mozzie. But all the phone numbers I've got are burner phones, long since discarded. I've called June time and again; she told her housekeeper to reject my calls. As for James, he's gone underground. Neal's not taking any visitors. That is why you wouldn't be able to talk to him. This is a rather shrewd affair."

In the evening, Peter told his wife about the meeting at prison. She was upset when she heard about Caffrey's condition. She had tried to visit Neal in prison once, but had left without achieving anything. She had also tried to reach Mozzie, without success.

Her husband had nourished hope that El might know how to contact Mozzie, or perhaps James. After all, he shed this last hope.

OPR sent the preliminary report a week later. Even though the final clearance was pending, there was no doubt that their C.I. had been framed.

As soon as Hughes had obtained the director's approval to renew Caffrey's deal he informed Burke immediately.

"Reese, I will try to convince him. Only, I have no idea about the outcome. Last time I was there he wasn't amenable to reason, apologies, or anything at all. But who knows? He's had a week to think about his options. Probably, he's figured out that living with an anklet in an elegant Upper West Side residence as well as working for the White Collar division is preferable to his current situation." Frankly, taken the icy encounter with his former consultant into consideration Peter didn't expect a warm welcome for his next visit.

He drove over to prison with mixed feelings. ..

Peter had brought the contract, spreading the sheets in front of him while he was waiting for Neal to be walked to the visitor's room. The FBI officials had signed already, and so had he. Only the consultant's signature was missing.

The FBI agent rose with a start when the inmate finally arrived. "Neal! What happened to you?"

Needless to say, Caffrey hadn't been looking hale and hearty a week ago. But right now, he presented a dreadful, pathetic sight. The left side of his face was bruised, full of black and blue marks, his lip was split. The eye was swollen completely, no hint of the sky-blue iris and there were stitches at his temple.

Neal had spent the morning in the infirmary. He was hurting and didn't want to see anyone, let alone his former handler. He was furious. What a stupid question was that? What happened to you?

Where should he start? This morning, when he got beaten up in the refectory by two fellow inmates? A few months ago, when the man he had considered his friend and partner had given him the boot? Or two years back, when his former girlfriend had ditched him after playing a double game on him? Maybe, he should start at his third birthday when his father walked out to come back only recently, after being lost for 30 years.

Yeah, what had happened to him? You could start a philosophical discussion on this question, debate on it for hours.

All he said was, "Hi, Peter."

The FBI agent was still in panic mode. "Those stitches... Who did this?"

Neal touched his temple unconsciously. It felt still numb after the local anesthesia. "The stitches? That was a doctor at the infirmary."

"That's not what I've meant. Who hurt you so much that you needed to be stitched up? This looks like a stab wound to me. I want to talk to the prison officer in charge."

Neal shrugged. "I stumbled at breakfast, bumped my head on the metal corner of a table and had a hard landing on the floor. Check the accident log. No-one else but me was involved."

"Neal, that's nonsense. Stop talking rubbish. You don't have to conjure up excuses. It's not your fault." The agent couldn't understand why his former partner refused to reveal the identity of his attackers or the guards who had failed their duties. Little did he know about the dynamics of life in prison...

Being the guy who had helped the FBI to arrest some of his fellow inmates didn't gain you much popularity. You didn't have to expect any favors from the opposing team either if you had escaped from prison before using the director's wife's credit card, thus making the guards looking like fools.

Caffrey didn't answer but sat down on the empty chair at the table. Peter sat back down, too. He tried to calm down. "Neal, this has to end. Let's face it, you can't stay here. Just sign these documents, so that you'll walk out with me and take lunch already at some fancy Downtown brasserie."

He slid the contract across the table. The prisoner took a glance and shook his head. "No. We're done. I've told you already I won't be working for you again. Never in a million years!"

The very first day of his re-imprisonment, he had been sitting in his cell waiting for exactly this: Peter coming to his rescue, full of remorse and reinstating the deal, probably willing to extend his radius by another mile. Neal would have sulked a bit, but finally magnanimously forgiven his handler. Likely, the con man would have been taking a little advantage out of Burke's guilty conscience now and then to squeeze out some extra favors.

He had clung to that hope. They had gotten over the Nazi treasure disaster; Peter had brought him back from Cape Verde, helped to clear his father's name. Neal couldn't believe that Peter won't see through this setup. Perhaps, Peter knew already who had set him up. It must have been someone at the FBI, so he might try to lull that rat into a sense of security in order to make him careless and put his head in the noose...

It had taken him a week to accept this was nothing but wishful thinking. Hope dies last. Yet, finally it dies. Shedding hope had been the most painful thing in his life. And you could say, he has had his fair share of painful moments... He wouldn't let anyone rekindle the hope. Dying hurts. Being dead was … well it was sort of OK.

Caffrey was about to leave the room.

His former handler was determined to make him change his mind. "It's my fault that you're here. I know that. And I am sorry… I can't tell you how sorry I am. As much as I wish that you would come back to work together with me, I do understand that you're not able to trust me enough to do that."

Neal stopped him in mid-sentence and hissed "You might say that."

Peter gulped, but went on. "Therefore, just sign the contract. I promise Hughes will assign you to another handler. You're going to have a say in the choice of the agent as well as the department. Until that is settled, you can stay at June's." The ex-criminal couldn't possibly reject this tempting offer!

Caffrey clenched his teeth, fuming. For a split second, he considered the offer. "No. I'm not going to work for you, or the FBI, or any other government authority. Just leave me alone. Don't bother to keep coming back repeating your proposal. Why should I trust any of your promises? You know what? Trust is like glass. Once broken it can't be glued together. Broken beyond repair." Meeting was over.

"See you next week, Neal. I'm not giving up." It might take a while but Peter Burke commanded a considerable amount of patience. Sooner or later, the younger man would be willing to listen and agree to the deal. Until then, he would have to make sure his friend won't be hurt anymore. Solitary confinement wouldn't amuse Neal Caffrey, but it would be better than bruises, black eyes & stab wounds.

AN:

Thank you all, for all the reviews and for waiting patiently for this chapter. I'm very impressed and glad that you like the story so far. I hope I won't disappoint you ... Once again, thanks to my very helpful beta kat11bookworm.

If you've reviewed as registered user I'd love to discuss contrary points of view. Normally, I don't comment on guest reviews. But even though I should know better, I can't refrain from getting something straight:

I don't hate Peter.

Ask USA Network, I'm the one who is spamming them that they should start to sell Peter merchandising T-Shirts... But seriously, I feel that everyone makes a big mistake every now and then. But only a man of strong character will acknowledge his fault, try hard to amend the wrong, and put things right. It would be so much easier to blame someone else or make excuses. But that's not the Peter of this story. I don't even want to think about my writing qualities if I have to explain my characters instead of letting the story speak for itself...