Peter's head whipped around as the doors to the courtroom opened and Neal was led inside. He was surrounded by security personnel, but looked as relaxed and confident as ever. Will, the lawyer, scurried in after him.

"Please stand for the Right Honourable Judge Grady," a small, hook-nosed man announced to the surprisingly busy courtroom. There was a great rustle as at least one hundred spectators climbed to their feet and faced the back entrance. A moment of silence, and then the door opened a second time. The judge walked in, tall and broad shouldered, with pristine black robes and a wig to rival King Charles the Second.

"Be seated." Everyone sat down, including Neal who leaned back in the dock, looking bored. Two police officers stood on either side of him, blocking the exit. Peter felt his heart begin to beat a little faster. This was really happening. Neal was really on trial. And from the way Judge Grady was glaring at his foster son's fashionably messy hair, things were not going to go smoothly.

The trial started with the usual rush of garbled words from the two lawyers. The typist's fingers danced a merry jig as she struggled to keep up with the torrent of words from defence and prosecution. Judge Grady listened carefully, occasionally intervening when Will and the other attorney's vocal battle turned nasty. Peter squinted, trying to keep up with the legal jargon, but the effort was giving him a headache. Neal seemed to be having no such trouble. He was sitting up in his chair now, watching with interest and occasionally swapping knowing looks with his lawyer.

"May I have the first witness, please?" Judge Grady asked after about ten minutes of solid verbal exchange.

"I ask Jonathon Harris to take the stand," the prosecution lawyer announced, pushing her glasses up her nose. Peter did a double take. Jonathon Harris was a teacher at Neal's school. He stared at the scrawny maths teacher as he awkwardly made his way to the front, and didn't break his gaze as Harris took the oath and sat down behind the microphone.

"Mr Harris, please may you introduce yourself to the court?"

"I'm a maths teacher at Merrinote High School in Manhattan."

"Very good. And can you identify this boy?" The lawyer gestured at Neal, who had folded his cuffed hands primly in his lap, his face like stone. Apparently he hadn't been expecting to see his teacher, either.

"Yes. That's Neal Caffrey. But I knew him for several months as Nick Halden." Peter noticed the spectators around him exchange disapproving looks. Neal's innocence and teenage charm wasn't enough to protect him from those who hated liars.

"In the time that you have known Mr Caffrey, have you seen him break the law?"

"Yes," Mr Harris said again. "I saw him rob the Museum of Modern Art when we were on a recent school trip. He also regularly breaks the rules in lessons. I've seen him on his phone under the desk more times than I can count-"

"Objection," said Will lazily, standing up with a small hop, "Relevance? The question wasn't about my client's behaviour in school."

"Overruled," Judge Grady boomed without a moment's hesitation. "Mr Caffrey's general behaviour is something that this court is here to analyse. Proceed, Mr Harris." Mr Harris forced his gaze away from Neal with a visible effort.

"I also know that he was arrested at the beginning of the year for hosting a wild party at his house, and that he broke into the staffroom to record the private conversations of teachers."

"Thank you," the prosecution lawyer smiled smugly at Will. "One last question, sir. Do you think, in your personal opinion, that Mr Caffrey has it in him to steal and then keep a highly sensitive piece of government property, the microchip Datum 815?"

"Definitely."

Peter saw the jury scribbling away and he knew then that any sliver of hope was now gone.

Three and a half hours later, Neal found himself sitting at Judge Grady's elbow, holding his chained hands up to the Bible and swearing to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth – something he had never done in his life. The time had come for him to take the stand.

He knew that the trial was going awfully, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The snowball had been pushed down the hillside and he could only sit back and watch it gather momentum. Prosecution had managed to pull ten witnesses out of the hat, a marvellous group of people who hated him. Gordon Taylor, "friend of the accused", Sara Ellis, "I broke up with him because he's a crook," Agent Fowler of OPR, "a more malicious and cunning conman I have yet to meet," and Agent Wesley, with his winning tale of how "Caffrey turned a gun on me and forced me out of an elevator."

The testimonies of Peter and Diana had been slightly better, but neither of them were enough to stop the sentence Neal sensed looming on his horizon. Peter had brought tears to his eyes with his speech about redemption and the importance of second chances. Diana had tried a more factual approach, telling the court about all the times Neal had been a good kid and done the right thing, "he chased after a robber who was trying to steal a car and nearly caught him." But no matter what they said, it simply wasn't enough to sway the jury. Neal knew that it was up to him. He was the last witness to be called. His words were his last hope right now.

"Mr Caffrey," the prosecution shot him a shark-like smile, "Why, in your own words, do you think that your lawyer entered a plea for innocence?"

He leaned forwards towards the microphone, trying to ignore the sea of faces in front of him. The courtroom was packed with press (minus recording equipment) and what seemed like everyone who he had ever been affiliated with in his life. He saw Mrs Stabbers sitting in the back, next to Carol and Jim, his foster grandparents. Peter and Elizabeth were at the front, hands held, gazing at him encouragingly. Mozzie, sporting a fake moustache, gave him a thumbs up gesture from the middle of the room.

"I pleaded innocent," he said, returning to the lawyer in front of him, "because that is what I am."

"Remember that you are under oath, Mr Caffrey," Judge Grady growled. The lawyer winked at him.

"Innocent, huh? Tell me about the robbery at the museum."

"That's double jeopardy," Neal shot back, thinking about all the time he had spent watching law programmes on rainy Sunday afternoons. "One can only be on trial for one crime at a time. Am I being tried for stealing and possessing the microchip, or the alleged robbery? And I apologise. I was joking when I said I was innocent. I doubt anyone in this room is innocent." The lawyer exchanged an incredulous look with Judge Grady, as if to say, can you believe this kid? Will, however, was grinning broader than he had ever seen him.

"Well in that case…" the lawyer stood up and paced closer, "Tell us about the microchip."

"Datum 815 contains the blueprints for the new one hundred dollar bill. The microchip was stolen from a secure facility three years ago. It has been missing ever since. Datum 815-"

"You can hold it right there, Mr Caffrey," Judge Grady sighed, "As impressed as I am, the court does not need to know that you can read." He held up the report about Datum 815 that had been issued to him and the lawyers which Neal had been reading from.

"I'm sorry, your Honour." Neal rocked back on his chair, looking contrite, "I was merely answering the question that was put to me."

"Mr Caffrey, you are on trial for theft. I really don't think that it is a good idea for you to be pickpocketing items off my desk." He snatched the report back and placed it firmly with the rest of the papers on his podium. He glanced at the prosecution. "Proceed."

"What is your connection with the microchip?" she threw at him, obviously going for a leaner, meaner approach after the Judge's admonishment. Neal, meanwhile, was kicking himself. Why had he swiped a report from Judge Grady? The stress of the trial was starting to get at him. He found his recklessness was directly proportional to adrenaline.

"I plead the fifth amendment," he said, deciding not to lie with Peter right in front of him.

"Are you actually having a laugh?" Judge Grady exploded, bearing down on him. Neal shrank back in his chair, handcuffs clinking, and heard the sound he had been waiting for ever since he had taken the stand: scattered gasps from the jury.

A trail was a con. Win the hearts of twelve jurors strong and true, and he would walk free. Judge Grady, unfortunately, seemed to realise Neal's game plan.

"Don't pay any attention to him!" he snapped at the jury, "he's trying to act like an innocent child and run away from his crimes!" he gestured angrily at the lawyer to carry on.

"Mr Caffrey, do you know the location of the microchip?"

"I plead the fifth."

"Did you steal the microchip?"

"I plead the fifth."

"Do you have the microchip in your possession?"

"Yes," said Neal, and the courtroom exploded, but then he held up his chained hands and waved for silence, "Sorry, sorry… bad joke. What I actually meant to do was plead the fifth."

"Get him out of my sight," Judge Grady hissed through gritted teeth. Neal raised his eyebrows at the hostility, but stood up on his own and padded back to the dock. He sat down and waited for the courtroom to settle.

Judge Grady was mad at him, that much was certain, but he would just have to wait and see if it paid off. By annoying the Judge, he hoped to gain the jury's sympathy. Perhaps they would see him as a child abused by the judge and take pity on him. Or perhaps they would follow Judge Grady's example and throw the book right at his head.

"That was brave, kid," Will whispered, "Stupid, but brave."

Another two hours and the trial was well and truly over. The jury had been out for only forty five minutes, and when they returned, Neal had no idea what to expect. None of them could meet his gaze, but then again, he hadn't expected them to. He focussed on his breathing, in and out, on staying calm. Peter found his eyes and he hung on to them, staring at his father for dear life. The dock swayed beneath him. He had done his best. But he suspected that his best just wouldn't cut it.

"Members of the jury," Judge Grady spoke slowly and gravely, "have you reached your decision?"

"Yes, your Honour."

"And?"

There was a pregnant pause. Neal held his breath, not daring to move an inch. He could feel his heart throbbing in his chest, feel his palms grow sweaty with nerves.

"We pronounce the defendant guilty."

The world faded into greyscale. From a great distance, Neal could hear Judge Grady announcing, with glee in his eyes, the sentence of four years in a federal prison. He saw Peter wipe his eyes angrily, Elizabeth's head on his shoulder. She was sobbing. Mozzie stood up as if to shout something at Grady, then appeared to think the better of it.

Then, as quickly as it had started, everything snapped back into focus. Neal knew what he had to do.

With a scraping of metal on carpet, he had pushed up off his chair. Next instant he was standing on top of it. One small hop and he was out of the dock and running for the doors.

"STOP HIM!" Grady bellowed, throwing himself at Neal.

But it was too late. He had taken everyone by surprise. Breathing hard, Neal burst through the doors, under the arm of a police officer and through the legs of a security guard blocking the exit. Running awkwardly with his hands chained in front of him, he crashed into a guard who tried to grab him, sending the man flying, and pounded out of the courtroom. He could hear Peter shouting after him, here Judge Grady's irate curses. But he didn't care.

For the seventh time in his life, Neal Caffrey was on the run.

Hey everyone, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I would love to hear what you thought of it, so please feel free to drop me a review! :)