Neal's breath came in short, jagged bursts. His chest heaved like a locomotive, ribs ballooning with every frantic heartbeat. Pain erupted from his sprained ankle as he pedalled faster and faster, relentlessly powering through the metres. He was right behind the burglar. The man, whose face was concealed by a shadowy hood, squeaked when he saw Neal gaining and dived into an alleyway. Neal swore and twisted the bike to follow him down the winding passageway. Clever. He thought bitterly. The thief knew Neal was faster on the bike than he was on foot, so he was employing all sorts of evasive manoeuvres in a desperate bid to throw Neal off. Neal recognised the tactics from all the times he had been in similar situations, running from the law. Happy memories.

He gritted his teeth and urged the bike to go faster. Wind streamed through his hair, teasing the half-formed curls and stinging his eyes like a sand storm. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, feeding him strength. Neal's face broke into a wild grin. This. This was good. This was what he should be doing. Helping Peter, protecting the innocent from the demons of the city. Fighting crime and making Peter smile his true smile, his special smile. For the briefest of moments, pride blossomed in Neal's chest. He was doing the right thing – and in his profession, that was quite the accomplishment.

The warm glow lasted all of three seconds. Reality was quick to dig in its claws. Neal suddenly began to question what the on earth he was doing. He was a criminal himself, yet here he was – chasing down another criminal. What happened to the whole 'honour amongst thieves' thing? He should be helping the guy escape, or… Better.

He should be helping himself escape.

Neal's heartbeat quickened as he tried to wrap his mind around the thought. This could be the only chance he had to get away from Peter. He knew full well that Peter was planning to throw him in prison in six months' time, regardless of whether or he gave up the microchip or not. Yes, they would cut him some sort of deal if he relinquished the chip, a shortened sentence, perhaps, or the chance of parole, but he would still go to prison. The foster situation with the Burkes was temporary. Or… he could escape right now. Cut the anklet and disappear on the stolen bike. This was his city – there were plenty of places to hide until the heat died down. He could do it.

For what seemed like an eternity, Neal considered his options. Blood pounded in his ears as he pondered upon his future. If he escaped, Peter would be left to pick up the splintered pieces. He would lose his job, his livelihood, his home. He would be left with nothing. But Neal would be left with nothing if he gave Peter the microchip! The thin line between right and wrong blurred dizzyingly in his mind. He knew what the right thing to do was. But… there was something distinctively wrong with doing what was right.

Neal thought back to the night before. The dinner with Peter and Elizabeth in their cosy kitchen with candles scenting the evening air and pizza steaming on the table. Peter's failed pasta bake safely in the bin. Elizabeth laughing, then looking at Neal, her foster son, with a fondness that would maybe – one day – grow into love.

Neal swore through gritted teeth. He couldn't do it. He couldn't leave Peter and Elizabeth. Not now. Not when they were being so nice to him. He still had six months before the bureau forced Peter to send him away. Was there anything so terrible about staying with the Burkes, living in a real home with a real family, for a couple of months? This isn't a final decision. Neal reminded himself soothingly. Staying with the Burkes today doesn't mean prison tomorrow. There would be plenty of time to escape later. He would make sure of it.

Neal pushed down harder on the pedals, trying to ignore the twinge of pain coming from his wounded ankle. The thing was still in plaster, which made him wonder, again, if chasing down a robber was really the best thing to be doing right now. Peter and the house were far behind him. The burglar had led him down roads and alleys, into gardens and across side streets. They were deep in the suburbs, and if Neal fell off the bike and hurt his ankle more, Peter would be too far away to help him. That too gave him pause for thought.

If the positions were reversed and Neal was the thief (which he had been several times) there was no way that he would still be running right now. By this late stage in the chase he would have either lost his pursuer or conned his way into a house for safety. There was a plethora of ways to get out of the current situation, from stopping and hiding, to hotwiring a car, to breaking into a building. Neal vividly remembered a time two years ago when he had tried to steal a Porsche from the car park of a five star hotel. The job had gone laughably wrong. He had had a bad cold that day and his wracking cough had been enough to draw the attention of a sleeping guest. He had ended up being chased by a fat man in a dressing gown. Desperate, and with the fat man hot on his heels, he had run into a police station and demanded to speak to a detective. Sniffling and playing up his cold for all it was worth, he then proceeded to tell the kindly man a twisted version of events before walking out of the station an hour later, scot free. Neal had gone back to steal the Porsche whilst the fat man had been detained for child abuse.

He had always had a way with words.

But this burglar was still running. Why? The question played over and over on Neal's mind. He pedalled and puzzled over it for a minute, trying to look at it from every angle.

The burglar had stolen Peter's car. He had provoked Neal into chasing him. And then he had led Neal on a wild goose chase through the city, until Peter was out of sight and there was nobody around to help him. Neal's blood froze in his veins. It was a trap.

He skidded to a screeching stop, slamming on the brakes until his whole body rocked over the handlebars sickeningly. But it was already too late. Neal only saw the white van when it pulled up next to him, slurring to a halt on the leaf strewn road. The burglar he had been chasing spun around, grinned devilishly, and melted into the shadows. A diversion. Why hadn't he seen it earlier? Neal could hardly believe his own stupidity. Why had the burglar continued to run? He had wondered. Well now he had the answer. The thief had led him deeper into the city, to this spot, this van, where no one was around to save Neal could react, the doors to the vehicle whipped open and two men jumped out. There was no time to fight, no time to run. One man drew a metal crowbar from nowhere. Neal swore when he saw it and tried to twist away, but he was too slow, the men too fast. The bar came down on his head with a solid crack. I'm sorry, Peter. Then Neal fell to the floor, unconscious. He didn't notice when they slit his tracking anklet with a pair of scissors, or when they bundled him inside the idling vehicle, whacking his skull against the door in the process.

Neal Caffrey was dead to the world.

Peter sprinted down the road. Where the hell was Neal, where the hell was Neal, where the hell was Neal… The words were a dizzying mantra repeating on loop around his skull. The kid had dashed off on Peter's bike – which, Peter thought indignantly – had been locked with seven coded padlocks and a chain, and had proceeded to chase down the car thief like some sort of teenage superhero. It was incredible. Neal was a criminal, but there he was, hunting down another criminal… It hurt Peter's brain just to think about it. Neal was an enigma. He had a strong moral compass, his heart was in the right place, but he made increasingly bad decisions that led him to make even worse ones. This little scenario was the perfect example. A desire to do what was right had obviously led Neal to do something wrong (i.e., steal Peter's bike) in a bid to bring a criminal to justice, despite the fact that he was, himself, a criminal. Conmen. Peter sighed. They are walking, talking contradictions.

But now Neal was gone. He and the unfortunate bloke he had been chasing had disappeared into the labyrinth of alleys and side streets that made up the suburbs and were now nowhere to be seen. Peter cursed as he jogged down the road, his dressing gown flaring out behind him like a wizard's cloak. He had called the police five minutes ago. They would be here soon, but still – he needed to find Neal before they got there. His foster son was volatile and utterly unpredictable, and given the circumstances regarding the stolen bike and the tracking anklet, there was no telling what Neal might do if faced with an irritable officer of the law at this ungodly time of night. Where the hell was Neal? The kid and the burglar had literally vanished into thin air.

Peter turned a corner and stopped dead in his tracks. On the road was a slipper. Neal's slipper, the one El had found floating around in the under stairs cupboard a few days ago. It had belonged to her cousin, or was it her aunt? Either way, Neal had grown rather attached to it. He loved old things and the stories they told. It was a sentimental aspect of his character that Peter would never understand. He remembered how Neal had shoved the slippers onto his feet in the seconds before he had dashed outside after him. He had been wearing them to chase the burglar. But there it was, on the pavement, a cold and lonely fluffy boot sitting on the gravel. There was something ominous about it that Peter didn't like one bit. That slipper didn't bode well. He could feel it in his bones. A heavy weight settled in his stomach, making his heart pound in his ears and his vision blur inexplicably. Where the hell was Neal?

Trying to quell his rising sense of unease, Peter continued to examine the area. Something flickering in the gutter caught his eye and he squinted, peering into the storm drain on the side of the road. There was something down there, just below the grate. Something glowing. He peered at it for a moment, trying to figure out what it was…

Jesus Christ. Peter's heart skipped a beat. He struggled for breath, then sat down on the side of the road, burying his head in his hands. The shining object that was emitting a blood red light in the sewer was Neal's severed tracking anklet. The kid had cut it. He hadn't been chasing the burglar after all! He had played Peter like a casino and escaped into the night. Peter swore vehemently, berating himself for letting the kid out of his sight for even a few minutes. Neal had betrayed his trust and Elizabeth's, he had shed the bureau's influence like a snake would his skin and worse… He had lied to Peter. Looked him right in the eye, promised not to run. But he had run all the same. Peter felt sick. Muttering curses, he snatched up the slipper and held it in his hands, sliding his fingers over the worn fabric.

Neal…what the hell have you done?

The men in the white van wore balaclavas and black clothes, but the moment the doors slammed shut their leader ripped off his mask. Light from the passing streetlamps fell ghoulishly onto his face. From where Neal lay, groaning, on the floor, he could just make out the man's features. The sight chilled him. He took it all in with clear blue eyes made hazy by pain – observing the sharp planes of the man's cheekbones, the dark hair that had, at some point in the day, been slicked back but had since stood up, unruly and rebellious. Neal knew that face. It belonged to his enemy and rival, Matthew Keller, murderer, manipulator and fugitive.

"Ah. Look who decided to wake up." Keller's lips fleered back as he gazed down on Neal, his expression utterly devoid of remorse. "Welcome back to the land of the living, my friend."

"What… what do you… want, Keller?" Neal slurred. His head hurt horribly. The van swum in crazy circles - he wasn't sure if he was sitting or standing. Keller smiled, as though he had said something funny.

"You know what I want, Caffrey." He drawled, examining his nails with measured disinterest. "I want the microchip. And if you don't give it to me, I swear to God…" He crouched low; face millimetres from Neal's, voice mesmerizingly soft.

"I will kill you."

Hey guys :D Hope you enjoyed this chapter and plot twist... Looking forward to hearing your thoughts! :)