"Goodbye, Sara." He said into the silence of her bedroom. She didn't reply.

Neal left her house with a heavy heart and a lump stuck in his throat.

Neal shoved his key in the Burke's door and turned it with shaking fingers. He was angry, he was confused and, most of all, he was sad. Sara's rejection and her father's fury had left him trembling and teary-eyed. He blinked back the waterworks, frustrated. There was no way he was going to start crying because his girlfriend had broken up with him. Not a chance. But deep down, he knew that he was teetering just on the edge. All it would take was one kind word from Peter, one hug from Elizabeth, and he would be a miserable, sobbing wreck.

Nope – not going to happen.

Neal gritted his teeth and pushed open the front door, stepping into the living room. It was empty. The Burke's were probably fast asleep, and he didn't blame them. It was very late. He slipped off his shoes and padded across the carpet, crept into the kitchen and darted towards the freezer. He had it open in a flash and the tub of hidden ice-cream out and in his hands even faster. Strawberry and peanut butter. His favourite. Brandishing a spoon like a weapon and hiding the ice-cream under his shirt, he tiptoed up the stairs, avoiding all four creaking floorboards from memory. The door to his bedroom was at the end of the hallway. Keeping his back against the wall, he sidled over to it, slipped inside and shut the door behind him. Phew.

Neal collapsed down on his bed, the forbidden ice cream clutched in both hands. The only problem was, there was already someone sitting on it.

"Holy moly!" Neal shot up with a start, heart pounding. Elizabeth Burke was perched on the edge of his Spiderman bedspread, examining her perfect fingernails nonchalantly. "What are you doing here?" Neal spluttered, staggering backwards and plunking himself down on the beanbag in the corner of the room.

"Ice-cream," Elizabeth mused, as though he hadn't spoken. "Strawberry and peanut butter. The one hidden behind the frozen vegetables." Neal said nothing. He looked at his foster mother morosely, then opened the tub and dug his spoon in. "Cologne," Elizabeth continued, nose wrinkled delicately, "You're wearing a very nice, expensive cologne."

"How-"

"I work in event planning, dear. I know my colognes. But wait… Ah, yes. Hastily buttoned school shirt, no tie…" She trailed off abruptly, hands flying to her mouth, "Oh sweetheart! Come here." Reluctantly, Neal pushed himself off the beanbag and sat down heavily on his bed next to Elizabeth. The ice cream went between them. "She broke up with you, didn't she? Sara?" Neal nodded once, too saddened by the statement to risk speaking. "Come here, sweetie," Elizabeth repeated, holding out her arms. This time, Neal leaned towards her and she held him, rocking back and forth, stroking his fluffy hair. "It's ok, dear, it's ok. I'm sure she'll see sense. And if she doesn't… well, if she doesn't then she obviously doesn't deserve someone as amazing as you." Neal could only nod in response. As he had predicted, Elizabeth's hug was bringing him dangerously close to tears.

The next morning, Neal went to school as normal. He had somewhat recovered from the events of the past day, and although he wasn't looking forward to seeing Sara, he had at least regained some of his old swagger.

Peter was quick to stamp it out.

"I'm coming in to see your head teacher this afternoon," he told Neal over his morning coffee. Neal felt his good mood slowly dissipate, like a balloon with a puncture.

"You're doing what?" he exclaimed, incredulous. Peter scowled at him.

"Seeing your head teacher. Mrs Stabbers, was it?" Neal nodded – Mrs Stabbers wasn't a name you were likely to forget. "You got into a fight with Gordon Taylor and she wants to speak to me about it." Peter continued, sounding seriously unamused. Neal blinked at him. Yesterday's fight in the chemistry lab had been completely brushed out of his mind by Sara breaking up with him and the 'Mozzie problem'. Time was running out for his friends. There were only three more days until the deadline – three more days for him to steal a Raphael from an art museum, get the microchip to Alex and swap the painting for Mozzie's life. If he failed in any one of his tasks, his friends would die.

Neal was really starting to feel the pressure. He had been counting on Sara's help to some extent when it came to stealing the painting; after all, she was the only one of their little group who had no criminal record. Now that she had withdrawn her support, he would have to get more creative and think of some other way to steal it. On the bright side, Sara had solved the problem of the anklet back when they had still been on speaking terms. It had been Sara who had pointed out the school trip to the museum in three days' time. Though it was awfully convenient – a school trip to the one place he wanted to go but the one place he wasn't allowed thanks to his anklet and priors – it did present the perfect way in. He knew he could use the school trip to steal the painting.

"Neal?"

"Eh?" he looked up with a start, knowing from Peter's voice that that wasn't the first time the agent had called his name. "Sorry," he sighed, running his hands through his hair, "I must have zoned out. Had a bit of a late night."

"I see." Peter raised his eyebrows and slurped some more coffee. Neal thought he saw El mouthing the words "Sara broke up with him" over his head, but he couldn't be sure.

"Ok," he announced, putting an end to their 'happy families' breakfast, "I'm off. Don't want to be late for school."

"I'll see you at two," Peter called as he slung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the door, "Actually, maybe I won't. I got the impression that Mrs Stabbers wanted to speak to me alone-"

But Neal was already gone, slamming the door behind him. He didn't want to be angry with Peter Burke, he just was. The agent had betrayed his trust when he had lied to him about Matthew Keller. When the scoundrel had escaped, he hadn't told Neal – despite the fact that Neal should have been the first to know. Peter had gone behind his back, so Neal had no qualms about going behind his. If Peter was willing to hide Keller, then he was more than willing to hide the fact that his two friends were been threatened and that he had to steal a painting to save them. Even if he had promised himself that he would never steal again, he didn't really have the luxury of a choice.

"Is this really a good idea?" Mozzie whined, hours later, staring at Neal and looking irritable. The short teenager was dressed in a tweed jacket and converse all stars. He had a pair of dark sunglasses perched on his nose, like a haughty librarian turned spy.

"I know it's not a good idea," Neal said, sweeping past him and setting his canvas on an easel. "But it's the only plan we've got. I couldn't forge the painting last night at Sara's house, so I have to forge it here."

"What about your house?"

"What, the house I share with an art crimes federal agent?" Neal scoffed, testing paints on the inside of his shirt sleeve so as to get a feel for the colour contrast. "Not bad, not bad…" he murmured, dabbing his paintbrush in little swirls.

"Hold it, Monet." Mozzie snapped, "I meant your house house. The house you share with June? It's private, it's got all the resources we need for the ageing process…"

"I can't go to June's house, remember?" Neal gestured at his left trouser leg, where the tracking anklet glowed just above his sock.

"Oh yeah. I forgot the omnipresent eyes of Big Brother were watching you." Mozzie huffed. "Sorry," he said, after a pause, "I'm not feeling myself. This death threat… it's messing with my mind."

"It'll be fine, Moz," Neal said, stopping in his paint mixing long enough to give his friend's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "We can handle Keller any day of the week. But seriously," he said, changing the subject with optimistic ease, "This place could work."

"It's the girl's toilet, Neal."

"So? Nobody ever comes in here." Mozzie looked bemused.

"And how exactly do you know that?"

"Trust me, I know." Neal sighed wistfully, thinking about all the conversations he had had with Sara, about the stars and wine and good food, about music and politics and the ins and outs of the school they both attended. "But that's beside the point. This place is good." He stared at the blank canvas for a full thirty seconds, consulted the printout of 'Saint George and the Dragon' that Mozzie was holding and touched paintbrush to fabric. He smiled. "There's lots of space, lots of natural light. And the best part is… even if Peter decides to check my tracking anklet, he'll see that I'm right where I'm supposed to be. In school."

"No… he'll see you standing in the girl's bathroom." Neal's fluid drawing hand stopped mid stroke.

"Ah. I didn't think about that one."

"What the devil is he doing?" Peter asked Diana in amazement. The pair of them were crowded around Peter's monitor, which was displaying the data from Neal's tracking anklet. The kid appeared to be standing in the girl's toilet on the ground floor of his school – and he'd been there a while. He also didn't seem to be moving.

"Oh, this is too weird." Diana smirked, "Seriously, what do you think he's doing in there?" Peter breathed in deeply, considering the options. The chances that Neal was doing something illegal were highly likely. But then he remembered what El had mouthed across to him at the breakfast table that morning. Sara broke up with him. Maybe this extended stint in the girl's bathroom was Neal and Sara getting back together. If that was the case, then Peter certainly wasn't going to get involved. The kid deserved some shred of happiness in his life.

"I think…. I think we'll leave him to it." Peter decided, smiling knowingly at Diana. She whistled through her teeth.

"You place way too much faith in that kid, boss."

"Yeah." Peter leaned back in his chair, surveying the busy office. "Yeah, I probably do."

"Well, maybe you should start putting less faith in him. You know what day it is?"

"No," Peter swivelled round on his chair to face Diana, wondering where she was going with this.

"It's June 7th. Almost exactly six months since you arrested Neal." Peter gaped at her. Six months! The time had gone so fast. Neal had integrated into his home so successfully it was like he really was part of the family. He had almost forgotten that it all had to end at some point. The deal had been simple. He and El would take Neal into their home and make him into their son. In return, Hughes had said that if they did that, Neal would tell them where the microchip was. Then they would reclaim the chip and send Neal off to prison. Peter felt like a bucket of ice was being tipped slowly over his head. Prison. And they were still no closer to finding the microchip than when they had begun. Another horrible thought struck him. If he didn't have the microchip by the end of the six months... he would lose his job.

"Neal's trial will be in one week." Diana murmured, perching on the edge of his desk and looking mournful. "They'll decide if he's guilty."

"Oh, he's guilty all right." But not guilty enough. Could they really send Neal to prison?

"Hughes said that you have until the trial to get the microchip. He said that if Neal hands the microchip to you, then the Bureau could cut a deal with him." Peter nodded slowly, still in shock. His lovely life with Neal and Elizabeth… one way or another, it was all going to end in one week's time.

"Oh fiddlesticks." He jumped up suddenly, swinging his suit jacket onto his shoulders and straightening the collar. "I gotta dash – it's five to two."

"The appointment with Mrs Stabbers, huh?" Diana smiled at him, " Have fun."

"Oh, I will. And I'll try not to-"

"Get stabbed?" Diana finished for him, "Yeah, I'm sure nobody's ever done that one before."

Peter grabbed a bundle of car-keys at random from the FBI pegboard and jogged down to the car park downstairs, doing his best to push the problem of Neal, the trial and the microchip out of his mind. He pressed the zapper, scanning the sea of parked cars for the one with the flashing lights. His eyes found it straight away.

"Oh, that's just what I need…" Peter glanced at his watch and swore – there wasn't enough time to go upstairs and get a different set of keys. Resigning himself to his fate, he yanked open the door and climbed inside the police patrol car. He was just backing out of the underground car park when a thought struck him. He was late for the meeting and… when was the next time he would find himself behind the wheel of a cop car? Neal's going to hate me for this. With a roguish smile, Peter flicked the sirens on and gunned the engine, sending the patrol car howling down Central Avenue and leaving traffic scattering in his wake.

He arrived at Merrinote School with just minutes to spare. Leaving the patrol car parked haphazardly out front, he scampered up the steps and buzzed in at the front desk.

"Hi, I'm Peter Burke. I have an appointment with Mrs Stabbers."

"One moment please." There were a few seconds of silence, then Mrs Stabbers emerged from her office like a dragon from its den, blinking down on him haughtily.

"Mr Burke."

"Please, call me Peter…?"

"Mrs Stabbers." Mrs Stabbers sniffed with finality. "This way please, Mr Burke. We'll collect your foster son and then talk in my office."

"Oh," said Peter, scurrying after the head who was already starting off down the hall, "I was under the impression that we would be speaking alone."

"Why should we? Your son broke the rules so it should be he who is a part of this meeting. I've taken the liberty of looking up his timetable. He should be in his Society and Religion class right now, in D4…" They walked along the corridor in silence, Mrs Stabbers' heels click clacking against the tacky, plastic coated concrete. "Here we are." They stopped short in front of a classroom with a brightly coloured door. Squinting through the window panel, Peter could just make out a class of thirty kids arranged before a teacher, all staring at a student who was standing at the front of the room. Peter recognised him instantly. It was Neal. The title on the board behind him read, CRIME AND PUNISHMENT – IS REFORM A POSSIBILITY?

"I'll just knock on the door and extract him from the lesson-"

"No, wait." Peter placed his hand on her arm. "I'd like to see this." He pushed open the door a crack and was able to hear what his foster son was saying.

"I do believe reform is a possibility. Not only that, I believe reform is an opportunity. Everybody should have the right to make up for their mistakes and become a better person as a result – otherwise our mistakes would define us and shape the person we are. There is a difference in being the person you want to be and being the person you are, especially for criminals where the gap between the ideal and reality is especially wide. Reform is the bridge to lessen this gap. In the words of Mahatma Ghandi, and – incidentally, Michael Scofield," Neal paused to smile winningly at the audience of captivated teens, "'Be the change you want to see in the world.' Reform enables people to do this, to become better people, to be the proverbial change. So yes, I do believe that it is possible to reform. I do believe that people change and have the basic right to change, to be forgiven for their mistakes. I myself,"

Neal took a deep breath, then continued in a slow, mesmerising whisper, "I myself am reformed – I've done some things in my past that I'm ashamed of, but I know now not to repeat my mistakes. I know that I have changed for the better, that I'm a new person."

There was a moment of stunned silence, then Neal sat down to tumultuous applause from the class. Peter was pretty sure he saw the SR teacher wipe a tear from her eye. He huffed a sigh, trying to decipher what he had just witnessed. Had Neal been telling the truth? Had he really reformed? Or was he simply aware that Peter and the head teacher were watching from the shadows? Had he put on a show? Or… or was he being genuine? Peter hated himself for doubting Neal, but he had been around the kid too long to take him at face value.

Mrs Stabbers turned to glare at him, looking vaguely annoyed.

"Can I go in and get him now? Do I have your permission?"

"Yeah, yeah." Peter waved her in, still tangled in his web of thoughts. He heard scattered 'oooohhhs' from the class when the head entered to extract Neal. A few seconds later, Neal appeared out in the corridor, hands in his pockets. To his credit, he looked genuinely surprised to see Peter. Maybe, just maybe, he hadn't known that Peter had been watching. Maybe the speech he had just given was the truth.

"Follow me, boys." Mrs Stabbers turned tail and led them back down the corridor to her office. Neal was walking by Peter's elbow.

"This should be interesting," Peter heard him mutter, before they entered Mrs Stabbers' lair and let the door slam shut behind them.

"I have tickets! My niece just got us three tickets!" Elizabeth was dancing around the kitchen when Peter and Neal returned from school together, after spending a gruelling two hours in Mrs Stabbers' office. Elizabeth hurried over and hugged both of them, one after the other. "So what do you say? Want to go see Romeo and Juliet performed live at the theatre?" Peter and Neal looked at each other. Though their relationship was going through a bit of a rough patch, the meeting with the head teacher had served to unite them against a common enemy. They exchanged smiles.

"Yeah, sure." Neal grinned, jogging up the stairs to change out of his school uniform.

"Sounds great, hon." Peter leaned in and kissed his wife on the cheek. "We could all use a break. Neal especially." They nodded at each other, both thinking of Sara and of Neal's forlorn expression last night when he had gotten home. Peter refused to spoil the evening by talking about the trial next week. He wondered what would happen if he just asked Neal for the microchip. If he explained that giving the microchip to Peter would save his job and help Neal barter for a deal with the FBI, would he go for it? Steeling himself, Peter resolved to ask Neal about it the next chance he got. But not tonight. It wouldn't do to ruin tonight.

Thirty minutes later, the three of them were seated in the mint green Volvo, bundled up in suit jackets and jewellery, on their way to the theatre. It was a crisp night, windy with just a hint of rain. Perfect for an evening out. They took their seats high up in the nosebleed section, nibbling on a seemingly endless supply of contraband chocolate that Elizabeth kept pulling out of her bag. Peter was sitting next to Neal. As the play concluded and the final lines were uttered, he allowed his eyes to slide over to the teenager at his side. Neal's eyes were sparkling. A single tear traced down his cheek.

"For never was a story of more woe, than this of Juliet and her Romeo." Neal whispered the final lines at the same time as the actor onstage, and Peter knew with certainty that he was thinking about Sara.

Neal settled back in his padded theatre seat, blinking back the emotion. Shakespeare always did make him go all misty eyed. A weakness he would have to thwart one day. He let the words wash over him, absorbing the iambic pentameter and the rich language of the bard. Then his phone buzzed in his pocket, and all his worries came crashing back. The text was two words long and came from an unknown number, but Neal knew that it was Mozzie.

"All set."

He smiled grimly to himself. The robbery was all set. All the wheels were in motion. The forgery was complete, the plan was fabricated. He was going to steal 'Saint George and the Dragon' during his school trip to the Museum of Modern Art. Or Mozzie was going to die. And then he was going to give the microchip to Alex and save her life too. Neal crossed his ankles, running through the plan in his head. Unexpectedly, the speech he had given earlier in the day flooded back to him. It had been all lies, of course, said for Peter's benefit, but it had nevertheless struck a chord. I myself have reformed. I know that I have changed for the better. Maybe it was time to make the lie a reality. Maybe it really was time to 'change for the better'.

Just one last crime before he gave up the criminal life. He hoped.

Because the thing about fish… they don't do well out of water.

Hey everyone! I'm sorry I haven't updated for so long - I've been really busy doing my GCSE exams for the past four weeks. Only one more week of exams left and then you can expect regular updates! Please feel free to drop a review and tell me what you thought of this chapter; I love reading your comments! :)