Neal lay his head back against the seat, closing his eyes and sighing deeply. His new identity was a thirty-five year old widower named Michael Hamilton with an eight year old son, Bobby. His wife of ten years had recently died, killed in the car accident that caused his own injuries. He had a master's degree in English literature from the University of Chicago. He smiled a bit at that. Michael spent the last 12 years teaching Shakespeare and Donne to tenth graders at a small private school just outside of Chicago. The file didn't give a reason for the move to Phoenix but that was pretty easy to fill in… who wouldn't need change of scenery after the traumatic "accident"? Without opening his eyes he closed the file and tucked it beside himself.

Nathen's head shifted on Neal's thigh and he smiled, running his fingers through the boy's hair gently. He had fought to convince himself to give up Neal Caffrey for Mozzie's treasure… but for this small boy he was walking away without hesitation. He smiled, though the expression felt a bit stiff. Neal was surprised at how protective he was of the child without even knowing him. He would do anything to keep this little bit of humanity, that consisted of mostly skinny arms and legs, safe. What would he do if anything hurt the kid? Already he knew his heart would be shattered in a way it had never been before. No loss he's faced would even compare to losing this little bundle of energy currently sleeping peacefully on his leg… his fingers absently stroke the smooth cheek affectionately.

His thoughts turned to Johnny Richards, on some dark level of his mind he could understand what drove the man to the level of violence he's reached. His child stolen from him forever… the pain… the grief the man must have endured. Neal swallowed harshly, knowing he caused that pain… his body shudders involuntarily, he almost wished he had died in that basement… if the team had arrived just a few minutes later he would never have known he was a murderer. He would have left this world in blissful ignorance of his horrible guilt.

He shivered at the thought of the dark haired girl. He had met her once while doing business with Johnny. The girl had been glowing with excitement after sliding out of a metal chute in the warehouse where they met, her black hair flying around her face, landing with a soft thump on a pile of old rugs raising a small dust storm around her. She waved at them when her dad called to her before jumping out of the way as her younger brother followed her down. Neal swallowed hard, his eyes tearing behind his lids. That pretty little girl was dead… she would never fall in love, never raise a family… she never even got to go to prom and it was all his fault.

The painful thoughts tore through him like a stampede of elephants trampling his peace of mind but they weren't enough to keep him awake. He was tired… so very tired. As sleep pulled him under Neal wondered vaguely if he would always be so bone weary… "Was this how my mom felt?" he thought… he hoped not. Nate deserved better than that. Silence fell over his raging psyche

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"What do you mean he's already gone?" Valdez scowled at Jennifer
"I arranged Caffrey's transfer to the Marshals for protective custody as you suggested." It really hadn't been a suggestion so much as a moment of sarcasm… but Jennifer wasn't going to split hairs.
"I also made it clear I wanted access to talk to him before they took him." her voice cold… anger oozing to the surface of her words.
"Why so you could accuse him of murder…?" The younger agent shook her head "I spoke to Meagan's doctor. Caffrey had nothing to do with that girl's death."
"If she had received treatment in time…"
"If she had begun treatment with in twenty-four hours of her first cough, she would still be dead."
"Her father doesn't agree."
"Her father?" the young woman's voice rose to a disbelieving squeak "You are siding with her father… the man who murdered Lenny with a moment's hesitation?!"
"I am simply saying there is some reason he feels that way."
"Meagan Richards died of an extremely aggressive case of Mesothelioma… which is caused by asbestos exposure… Neal mentioned he met her once at Richard's place of 'business'…so I checked into it… an old carpet factory…the company used asbestos in the carpets. Richards is doing exactly the same thing you are, ma'am"
"What the h*** does that mean?"
"It means you both need a scapegoat… someone to blame so you don't have face your own guilt."
"My guilt?!" Valdez stared daggers at her.
"Yes, your guilt ma'am" She didn't back down "Meagan Richards died because her dad exposed her something deadly…he apparently couldn't deal with that… he needs someone to blame, Caffrey was convenient but it could have just as easily been the doctor who couldn't save her, his boss who fired him or his wife who hesitated to take her in…"

"Fine you made your point but I fail to see what it has to do with me."

"Lenny…"Jennifer's voice almost gave "Lenny died because you insisted on taking that little boy from Berrigan and handing him over to CPS… ignoring an obvious threat. Berrigan told you someone was watching them...following them. You wouldn't listen…"

"They wanted to keep the case active"

"Of course they did." She looked her boss in the eye "threat doesn't change the fact that there was a threat to his safety you chose to ignore because the case was low priority to you, and it cost us…"

"YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW THAT!" Valdez's face twisted as she shouted

"I will not let you hurt a decent man just because you can't deal with your own conscience."
"Decent man?" her voice rose sharply "DECENT MAN? He is a criminal!"
"I know that, but he doesn't deserve what Richards did to him. He doesn't deserve what you are trying to do to him either."

"Do even know half the things he's done?"

"I do actually… and I think he has more than paid for them these last few weeks."

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Stepping out of the cool car was a startling revelation to Nate. The air was warm and shimmering… far warmer than he had ever imagined the end of March being. Looking around he shuddered, everything seemed so foreign. They sat in front of a free standing house… with a yard. He stared at the large cactus beside the walkway. The broken stone where grass would have grown at any house he had ever seen….several sparse bushes scattered across the yard. The house itself was two stories of pale purple with a Spanish tile roof. Agent Randel led them inside quickly closing out the heat behind them. The room was huge with a ceiling that rose to the roof.

"The master bed room is on the ground floor with a bath room that has been appropriately modified for your current condition." Randel was explaining "Bobby's room is upstairs at the back of the house"

"I don't like him on a separate floor…" Neal protested "especially while I can't get up there."

"Where he sleeps is up to you," the response was smooth "we have taken the liberty of setting you up with a local doctor and arranging your first physical therapy appointment… Bobby is registered at Lincoln elementary… it's about half a mile from here. He starts Monday."

"Thank you" Nate watched Neal smile at the Marshal.

"There is an emergency ladder in Bobby's room" the boy wished desperately this man would stop calling him Bobby…it made him feel unreal somehow. "I will carry his bags up there and demonstrate to him how to use it."

"Why do I need ladder?"

"If there is a threat, Nate, you put out the ladder and go down it…immediately" Neal told him firmly.

"You mean if that man finds us." Nate shivered

"Yes."

"You need to remember Mr. Hamilton, his name is Bobby" Randel interrupted "it is important that you forget your old identities."

"I know." Neal smiled broadly and his demeanor seemed to pacify the man. Randel moved away… Nate assumed to get the bags. Neal looked at the boy with an intense expression.

"You have to go by Bobby now… but Nathen, I don't want you to forget who you are… Not now. Not ever. Do you understand that? You are Nathen Bryant, the son of Kimberly and Ryan Bryant. They are good people, who love you and would do anything to protect you. Never, never forget that."

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The room was small… meant to be an office, it opened off the great room… Neal pushed the door closed and studied the tiny space… his closet at June's was bigger. The walls were bland… off white and textured, but the windows were south facing, spilling natural light abundantly into all the corners. He didn't need an office but this would work nicely as a little studio… he could set up his easel there by the second window. He would need a rug to cover the carpet… and shelves there along the north wall.

He struggled with the plastic sheeting… it would have to do until he found a rug. Neal set up his easel, arranging it to suit him. he rummaged through the suitcase full of art supplies he brought with him until he found a brush that suited him and his acrylic paints… applying it to the small canvas with an abandon he rarely allowed himself Neal allowed himself to relax for the first time since the move… his twisting painful thoughts drifting with the strokes of the brush.

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Peter studied the package, turning it slowly in his hand. It wasn't large… a rectangle about 12 inches long by 4 inches wide and deep… wrapped in plain brown paper, there was no return address, his own address printed in neat block letters. The box felt light… The post mark was from a small town in Texas… he considered dusting it for prints but… dozens of postal employees must have touched it along the way, rendering that idea pointless. Maybe he should let Mozzie look at it before he opened it. The agent shook his head sharply at that thought, trying to dislodge the paranoia that had been creeping into his thoughts during the two weeks since he watched Neal and Nathen loaded into a dark car and driven away. It was difficult not to worry though, when several times he was certain he had been followed. Now there was this mysterious package… it could be a bomb…or filled with poison… or... several unsavory possibilities ran through his mind.

The little package did not seem overtly threatening however, and he was curious… with a deep sigh he slid his finger under a fold of the paper and tugged gently… he paused but nothing exploded so he continued carefully. The wrapping fell away and he gingerly lifted the lid, his body tense… ears straining for a telltale click or beep or any sound that would warn him to throw the box as far as he could and dive for cover… the only sounds in the room were his nervous breathing and the rapid thudding of his heart.

Inside he found the last thing he expected… a small canvas rolled tightly. Suddenly he knew who sent him the gift. His hand trembled as he uncoiled the material. A swirl of blues, greys and blacks depicted a storm tossed seascape… the little light that trickled into the piece only accentuated the savage darkness… Peter smiled sadly. The work wasn't visibly signed but the message was clear… Neal and Nathen, though uprooted were settled somewhere because Neal had found time to paint… and they were nowhere near the sea…