"He jumped out a window not 5 minutes ago." Jones told Peter solemnly. Peter swore.

"Are you serious? He jumped out a window? Again?" Jones nodded feverously. He seemed stunned.

"Yes, boss, but-"

"Well are you going to see if he's alright?" Peter asked, overruling his agent. He could feel his voice rising higher and higher as the panic dug its claws in. They were on the fifth floor of a skyscraper with a busy street below. Neal could be anywhere by now. Or he could be dead. No. Peter thought savagely. Don't even go there. "Jones?" He snapped. "Jones, are you going to DO something? Jones? Neal could be seriously hurt, he c-could-" Peter choked off the end of his sentence as the initial shock began to wear off. He grabbed Jones' arm and started dragging the younger agent towards the stairwell. Jones blinked.

"Boss! No, it's ok! Neal escaped earlier. He jumped out the window, then somehow managed to grab a flag pole to slow his fall. Then he landed on the roof of a truck. The kid's smart, Peter. He's not gonna do some Reichenbach style fall without some sort of a back-up plan! A local cop yanked him out the road before he could get run over. He's still with Caffrey now, waiting for the paramedics to arrive." Peter realised that he was still gripping Jones' arm hard enough to leave bruises. He slowly unfurled his fingers.

"Jones. Why the hell didn't you tell me that first?" Jones must have picked up on the fact that Peter's voice was dangerously low. He took a wary step back.

"I tried-"

"Clinton. Promise me you'll never worry me like that again." Jones nodded despondently. Peter stared into his eyes for a few more seconds, then turned and sprinted down the stairs. He had to get to Neal. He had to get to Neal.

Neal stared groggily up at evening sky. It pulsed with the afterglow of sunset and the actual glow from numerous streetlamps. The events of the past few minutes flashed through his head as he examined the night above. He had leapt out of Peter's window! He vividly remembered the chaotic sensation of falling, falling, falling… before his outstretched hands had grabbed onto a flag pole. He had known that it was under there – it had been his plan all along to snag it – but he had been pleasantly surprised to find that it had actually worked. He had latched onto the pole and hung there before… slipping. Falling. Landing on the roof of a moving truck with a bone shattering crunch and rolling off onto the petrol splattered tarmac far, far below. Strong hands had yanked him out of the path of oncoming traffic. The hands had carefully arranged him on the pavement, on his back, staring at the sky, before disappearing from sight. He dimly recognised the sounds of a 911 call being placed before blacking out.

"Neal! Neal! Jesus Christ, Neal, what the hell were you thinking?" A voice swept towards him. Peter. Neal sighed with relief. The movement sent needles of pain slicing through his chest. He tried to speak, to talk to Peter, to assure him that he was ok, but all that came out of his mouth was a raspy wheeze. "Shh Neal, don't talk." Peter's face swam into view above him. "Hold on just a few more moments. The ambulance is coming."

Wait. Ambulance? Neal struggled to organise his thoughts. Why did he need an ambulance? Because… he blinked, trying to remember. He had escaped. From Peter. Why had he done that? Because he was angry at the FBI. Because the FBI thought that he had a microchip he claimed not to have. They had amassed some DNA evidence suggesting that he did have it, but he still swore up and down that he didn't. The accusation had angered him. Angered him enough to leap out a window. Peter was still standing over his prone form, hovering like a worried parent. Neal gasped and tried to sit up. He had to get away.

"Neal, hey, hey, hey it's ok!" Peter gently pushed him back down. "Try not to move, alright?" Neal ignored him. With a groan, he pushed himself up into a sitting position: legs outstretched, body propped up on his elbows. The pavement was a glacier that sent chills up through the thin fabric of his shirt. Peter looked concerned, but didn't try to move him again. "Neal-"

Whatever he was about to say was interrupted as the policeman who had yanked Neal out of the road hurried over to the pair of them.

"You Peter Burke?" Peter shot one last glance at Neal, then climbed to his feet to face the cop.

"Yes. What happened? I heard you saved Neal." The policeman nodded and guided Peter away so that they could talk in private. Neal was left alone on the pavement. That suited him just fine. Squeezing his eyes shut against the pain in his chest – his ribs had to be broken, or at the very least, badly bruised – he clenched his teeth and stood up. Nobody noticed as he staggered away from the policeman and Peter. Shooting one last, furtive look in their direction, Neal turned and melted into the crowd.

Elizabeth was driving home from work. Her head was filled to the brim with facts, figures and statistics from an utterly frenetic day at the office. She hummed softly to the empty car as she mentally ran through all that had occurred at work: the scathing meeting with bossy clients who wanted things just right and the heated argument with a short sighted electrician. She sighed and slowed the car to stop at a red light. She was deep in the suburbs, and at 10 in the evening this sleepy part of the city was practically deserted. She was the only car on the road, the only person waiting at the junction. Elizabeth ground her teeth as she waited for the lights to change. What the hell was taking so long? She had to get home and make dinner for Peter – though knowing her husband, he would still be at the office despite the late hour. Sometimes Elizabeth thought that Peter cared more for Neal Caffrey (his three year long obsession) and the job than he did about her.

Elizabeth huffed and turned on the radio with a stocky finger. She was being ridiculous. Of course her husband loved her. He loved her more than anything else in the world, and she was stupid to resent him for working extra hours at the office when his job was to protect the country from harm. The light suddenly morphed from red into green and she gently nudged the accelerator, easing the car forwards. Peter's warm embrace seemed to call her and she pressed down harder, sending the speed dial swinging upwards.

She was doing 30mph when she saw him.

He was young, maybe 15 years old. His dark hair seemed almost black under the eerie glow of the street lights. His eyes glinted ice blue in the dark - two pinpricks of scalding electricity. But that wasn't what had caught her attention. The boy was running. Running faster than anybody had a right to do in a quiet, residential suburb. Running as if his very life depended on it. The boy sprinted towards her. He was moving awkwardly, bent double, his hands wrapped around his rib cage. He was obviously injured.

Elizabeth took this all in in the space of a second. The boy was fast: streaking like a comet down the length of the pavement. He was parallel with her car. Before she had time to react, the kid suddenly swerved violently and staggered into the road. Elizabeth screamed and slammed on the brakes, but it was too late. The car hit the boy and he crumpled to the floor. She spun the wheel and forced the car into a screeching halt before throwing open the door and running to the fallen boy. Oh God oh God oh God.

She reached the boy and fell to her knees beside him. She pressed her ear to his face and discovered to her extreme delight that he was still breathing. The boy cracked open his eyes and looked up at her, a dazed expression clouding his face. There was a graze on his forehead – bright red – as though someone had swiped a paintbrush against his skin. Only Elizabeth knew it wasn't paint. Her heart melted within her.

"Hey there, sweetie, are you ok?" When the boy didn't answer, Elizabeth carefully checked that he was ok – no broken bones, no injured spine. Miraculously, he seemed to be totally fine, apart from the graze on his head. She took a deep breath, mentally running through her options before coming to a decision. She gently guided him to his feet before helping him to the car. She opened the door and the kid fell onto the back seat with a grateful sigh.

Neal groaned and took in his bearings. He was in a strange car with a strange woman. He had a dim recollection of the car thwacking into him, but when he examined his limbs for injuries he found that he was fine apart from a ringing in his head. "Hey, sweetie, don't fall asleep, don't black out now, stay with me, ok sweetie?" The woman was talking to him, babbling on like a perpetually bubbling creek. Neal hadn't realised that his head was lolling against his chest until now. "What's your name, sweetie?"

"Neal." He slurred without hesitation. The woman smiled blankly - she seemed stunned.

"That's funny. My husband knows someone called Neal. I think he's about your age, actually." She frowned. "Small world." Neal nodded without really absorbing the information. After he had escaped from Peter and the policeman, he had wandered the streets of the city for a time, looking for a place to stay. Mozzie was out of town and after his arrest he had no contacts left he could trust. He had gradually entered the suburbs, avoiding all patrol cars and members of the public, until the effects of jumping out of a window had finally caught up on him and he had collapsed into the road. The car had hit him a glancing blow, which had caused him to fall over and whack his head on the tarmac.

A woman who smelt like flowers had scooped him up into the backseat of the car and had started gushing away about names and hospital.

Hospital.

Neal swore unsteadily. He couldn't go to hospital!

"No… hospital." He managed to gasp out. "No… police…" The woman shot him a worried glance through the mirror.

"Ok Neal, whatever you say, sweetie. Now stay awake for me, Neal. Tell me your favourite colour." Neal was dimly aware that she was talking to him, but he couldn't muster the energy to reply. He recognised the strategy from the one time he had watched Coronation Street – the way to stop someone from falling asleep when they had a head injury was to force them to engage in conversation. But it wasn't working. Neal could feel himself slipping.

"No… police…" He murmured one last time. Then the world was ripped out from under him and he tumbled into the black abyss.

Elizabeth was freaking out. She had a teenage boy on her sofa and an elderly man in her kitchen. The man was from next door. He was a doctor (thank God) and Elizabeth had pleaded with him to come round hers and check on the boy who called himself Neal. The lonely neighbour had happily complied – busily wrapping bandages around Neal's chest, checking the cast on his ankle and gulping down El's famous, too-strong tea. Elizabeth had watched over the proceedings like a hawk would a rabbit; she was desperate to know whether or not Neal would be ok. She couldn't believe that she had hit him with the car – though it had hardly been her fault. She had been doing the speed limit when he had suddenly wandered into the road. Elizabeth took deep, calming breaths and gazed down on Neal, the miracle boy. Now that she could see the extent of the boy's injuries, she was utterly amazed that he had been able to run so fast before collapsing. He shouldn't have been able to walk, let alone sprint as though his life depended on it.

"I think that he'll be ok now." The old man from next door appeared at her elbow. She tore her gaze away from Neal to look at him.

"Really? You're sure?" The man laughed and nodded his silver head.

"Yes, Mrs Burke, I'm sure. He took quite the knock. His ribs are badly bruised and he has a mild concussion, but now that I've bandaged his chest and checked his reflexes he'll be totally fine." Elizabeth sighed with relief.

"Thank you so much, Dr Watson." The elderly man grinned.

"Not at all, not at all! I'll be happy to help whenever you need it. But I must ask – why didn't you take the boy to hospital?" Elizabeth gazed down on the sleeping teenager. Neal was spread out on her sofa, chest bare and bandaged, looking serene beneath the yellow blush of her lounge lights. After she had stopped the car outside her house, Neal had leant against her as she helped him up the steps and through the front door. He had looked deep into her eyes and thanked her solemnly. She had known instinctively that the thanks had come from the bottom of his heart. He had shaken her hand and thanked her again before breaking into a pain laced smile, and Elizabeth had thought in that moment that she had never before met such a polite or passionate young man.

"He didn't want to." She said simply. The doctor smiled, a knowing glint in his eyes, and went to get his coat.

"Call me whenever you need me. That's an order." He said sternly. Elizabeth smiled and nodded her head.
"I don't know how I can thank you enough-"

"It's no problem whatsoever, dear. Have a good night." The elderly doctor stepped into the hallway. He opened the front door to leave, then took a step back, surprised. Elizabeth hurried to see what was going on. Peter was standing on the porch with his keys raised to enter. He looked startled as the door was suddenly flung open, but quickly smiled and said hello to the neighbour, before stepping aside to allow the doctor to leave. Elizabeth shot one last glance over at Neal. The boy was awake now, watching her silently with large, blue eyes. The she turned to face her husband.

"Peter, there's something I need to tell you-" Peter stepped into the room and threw his coat in the vague direction of the cupboard. It landed neatly on a peg.

"Hey, hon." He leaned in and kissed her, his back to Neal and the lounge. El noticed that Neal had gone very still. "I've had the most horrendous day at work. Neal escaped and I have no idea where he is…" Peter trailed off. He seemed to notice, for the first time, that El wasn't smiling or asking him how he was. Slowly, he turned around. His eyes fell on Neal who was lying on the sofa, an almost apologetic smile dancing on his face. The kid looked tired, wan, as if he was resigned to his fate. Seeing him like that made El realise something that should have been obvious from the start. Neal Caffrey. Neal took a deep breath, then looked directly at her husband.

"Hey Peter."

Hey guys, hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for the reviews, they're really helpful. Would love to hear what you thought about this one :D