A/N: Quick warning, some coarse language in this chapter.

Chapter 3 – "curiosity about the world and all its corners is a beautiful thing"

(Stephen Fry)

Saturday passed quite normally, well Neal's version of normalcy anyways. He continued his investigation into the mysterious music box and the hunt for Kate's killer with his trusty partner in crime (allegedly) Mozzie. And in the evening he completed a charcoal portrait of his lost love in an attempt to relieve his stress; it was either that or wine and not only was he afraid Peter might 'just pop by' when he was in one of his most loose-lipped phases he was also concerned he would go through his entire collection just on his guilt over Kate's murder.

It was his fault she was dead. His fault the only thing left of her sits in an urn in his apartment. It's all his fault.

He should have been able to find her, protect her. He had been selfish, a dreamer, to drag her into his dangerous world; Mozzie often said guys like them aren't meant to have happy endings. He didn't deserve one anyway.

He should have done something to help her, to stop her from… dying.

Why did she have to die?!

Fowler; his guilt was only outweighed by his burning fury for that bastard. That evil, manipulative, murdering son of a bitch blew up the best thing that had ever happened to him and what happened?

He got away whilst Neal spent 3 months in federal prison after watching the love of his life being blown to pieces right in front of him…he can still recall everything little detail of that moment.

He remembers the stench of jet fuel and burning flesh that surrounded him like an inescapable miasma of death, the raging flames that taunted him as though the Grim Reaper himself was mocking his cowardice and compelling him to leap into his strangling claws. The feel of the intense heat as it stroked his face scratching his skin and his soul away to blackened rubble. And the visceral screams that filled the air, the desperate screams that managed to yell out above the screeching of the explosion and the roaring of the fire. His screams, as he cried out for the life that was lost and the life that would never be. Her life and his life and their life together all stopped when that plane exploded.

He can't forget these images and smells and sounds because every night he goes back to that hangar and experiences them all over again.

He has to make Fowler pay; he must get justice for her.

After waking up on the sofa covered in charcoal and sweating as though the flames were still licking his spine Neal felt the familiar loss as though it was new again, a wound that would never close.

But, if Neal Caffrey was anything it was a conman so he pushed the tumultuous emotions aside and began to deal with the problems he could.

He had been investigating the music box and Kate's death all of yesterday - hell, all of his free time - with Mozzie and yet they were no closer in solving either mystery. The trail ended with Fowler and an unbearably hot winter's day. He worked tirelessly whenever he could in attempt to figure out why Kate had to die. He had ended up collapsing, physically exhausted, on the sofa at 4am after failing to calm enough to sleep and had woken just 4 hours later covered in grey dust with a scream dying on his lips.

He was quite glad in actuality that he had woken up much earlier than needed because it would give him the chance to quell his nervous stomach and actually be able to force some food down before meeting Bancroft and heading to the hospital. If he continued to only be able to eat the measly amount he was currently consuming it would begin to get very noticeable.

A few hours later at 11 o'clock Neal was sat in a cramped white-walled waiting room with butterflies dancing around his stomach and a quite-caring-if-rather-overbearing FBI agent waiting for him outside. Bancroft had turned out to be much nicer that he had initially anticipated a bureau higher-up to be and had luckily been willing to wait in the main waiting area for him to come back out from his scan. He guessed losing his cool the other night had not only proved the validity of his need for the MRI scan but also provoked a softer and almost adorable protective side to the gruff fellow which conveniently was rather trusting.

"James Campbell" called the kind yet clinical nurse working at the reception desk and he was directed to a room imaginatively entitled no.403.

~WC~

Dr. Samuel Winters had always been intrigued with the human body and its propensity to not only be able to maintain the phenomenon that was homeostasis but also to withstand the stress and challenges we put it under in everyday life. He was especially in awe of the brain, it was a masterpiece; faster than any computer, controlling speech, emotion, memory, sounds, vision and all pretty much unnoticed by the average Joe. Sam also loved sci-fi movies and chess, he wore big glasses and had dimples that came up whenever he laughed – he was a self-confessed nerd.

But, he loved being nerdy because the world is so much more interesting when you stop and look at it – curiosity may have killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back. The patterns of how many petals are on flowers, the genetics of the beauty of one's inheritance and the true meaning in literature and art all just gave way to new layers of appreciation for the perfection that we can discover.

This was why he had decided to become a doctor; to help those whose bodies were no longer functioning as they should and to meet others who shared his insatiable curiosity for the world. At the moment he may be just a couple of years out of med school and only a budding radiologist but he had dreams beyond just doing the scans and writing reports – he wanted to help people.

But for now his newest patient had just entered and he begun to recite his speech, "Good morning, my name is Dr. Winters and I'll be your radiologist for your scan this morning. I want to assure you that the scan will be painless and there are no after effects from it. It will take about 30 minutes for us to get all of the images we need of your brain and I'll need you to remain as still as possible during this time so the images are clear. I will be just over the intercom if you have any questions or worries, and you can listen to any music you've brought with you – just give me the CD or your iPod and I'll put it on for you. Do you have any questions Mr. Campbell?"

Throughout the whole of this Sam had been setting up the equipment and reading over the notes on Mr. Campbell – turns out he had had a scan about 6 months ago after he had been injured in an explosion but there hadn't been any anomalies. It was only at the mention of Mr. Campbell's name that he stopped his musings and looked over at the guy.

Honestly he was shocked, the guy was beautiful, an Adonis sculpted by the Grecian Gods. "You're at work keep it professional!" he internally chastised himself and luckily regained his cool before the man – Mr. Campbell – returned his gaze. His eyes were a shade of cerulean blue even the sky couldn't rival and Sam once again forced himself to return to his job and specifically the pain he could see reflected in his patient's baby blues. He tried not to betray his less than professional feelings and instead offered a reassuring half-smile and directed him over to the MRI scanner, taking the proffered iPod back to his place at the intercom and computer. All whilst trying not to blush at the grateful smile he received, "stop fawning Sam!".

Much as Sam didn't want to wish ill on this lovely man, he did hope fate allowed them the chance to meet again, hopefully in a less professional setting.

~WC~

Neal had never had a problem with claustrophobia or arachnophobia or heights or most common fears for that matter, in fact many would believe he was fearless to withstand all he had and pull off the daring heists and stunts he had accomplished in his relatively short lifetime. Neal in fact did have fears – boredom, pain for those he loves and clowns (especially when said clowns have chainsaws) – but he had never experienced claustrophobia.

That wasn't to say he had never felt uncomfortable in small spaces like air vents, crawl spaces and, well, an 8 by 10 prison cell. Those were very uncomfortable he'd have you know. But now Neal didn't just feel uncomfortable and yet he didn't feel claustrophobic either.

Neal felt as though a swarm of butterflies were somersaulting across his stomach and as though his heart was experiencing the after-effects of a late night chocolate feast. And at the same time he felt as though his mind was spinning with so many thoughts that it was blank, like when something moves so fast you can't see it, and as though the small space was closing in and at the same time cushioning him from the outside.

So when the opening bars of Beethoven's 5th Symphony began to play from his iPod over the intercom Neal felt the dark humour of the tune but he also appreciated the beauty of the piece and allowed himself a short respite from the world to just sink into the music of one of the greats.

When Neal opened his eyes again once the piece had finished he felt remarkably refreshed, as though the song in all of its dramatic glory had simplified the tangled up mess that was his life. He started planning what he was going to do and how to stop those closest to him from finding out, with one of his favourite quotes in mind, "life is more manageable when thought of as a scavenger hunt as opposed to a surprise party".

When Neal emerged from the beastly machine 20 minutes later he felt much calmer and prepared yet the lingering nerves wouldn't go away. As he said goodbye to the kindly Dr. Winters his sense of foreboding tripled at the poorly masked sadness and sympathy in the radiologist's gaze, unless someone had just kicked the guy's puppy something was seriously wrong.

He hoped his disappointment at the young doctor's expression wasn't too overt – he was a conman after all – but it was a hard thing to disguise when his head was spinning like Mozzie's when he discovered a new conspiracy theory.

As he approached Bancroft with what he hoped was an appropriately blank expression he was struck with the desire to pour out all of the churning emotions those beautiful green eyes had made in his nauseated stomach. He didn't.

Bancroft studied him whilst getting to his feet clearly searching for some appeasement to his inner agent's curiosity. When he didn't find anything he just asked without preamble, "How'd it go, Caffrey?" in a slightly softened version of his gruff voice.

"Great, thanks sir." Neal replied in a part cheery part weary voice as he climbed into the agent's typical 'FED!' black ford.

"Good, good. When d'you get the results?"

"Sometime in the week. Look, sir, I know this is a weird situation what with not telling Peter and me going all … odd on you the other day and well, thanks."

"No problem, son. When I first started with the bureau I got ill a few months into the job and didn't tell anyone about it. I ended up collapsing a couple weeks later from pneumonia." Bancroft smiled nostalgically and shared a chuckle with Neal. He continued good-humouredly, "Someone has to make sure you don't collapse on us Caffrey".

"Yeah, well, I cause Peter enough stress already." Neal replied with an unrepentant gleam of mischief in his eyes.

As they pulled up alongside June's he once again debated with himself but that self-preserving paranoiac voice in him won out and he got out of the car with the Mozzie voice yelling at him, "Don't admit to anything!"

Neal waved off Bancroft and started to climb up the stairs just as he was opening the door he paused, wait a minute – hearing voices?