Time was a funny thing, Peter thought. It seemed to slide by so slowly... and yet it slipped away so quickly. Each day dragged by at an aching crawl, but he was surprised this morning to realize it had been a month since the funeral.

The office was the same as always. Diana and Jones quietly sniping at each other. the probies and junior agents working diligently to impress him, and to drive home the passage of time there was a new probie today, a fresh-faced young woman eager to make her mark on the FBI... happily setting up shop in the only empty desk in the office. Peter looked away so he didn't see Neal grinning up at him and the ridiculous hat on the corner of the desk. He shouldn't be feeling this so hard, even if things had played out differently the desk would be empty, he reminded himself. Neal would have never taken a job with the bureau... not at the end. He wanted out... wanted out badly enough to work with Keller... to take dangerous chances and...

Peter turned away from the main office entirely, trying to focus in on his paperwork and found himself trying to ignore the reflection his mind caught in the glass instead.

"Hey Boss" Diana somehow snuck up on him.

"What can I do for you?" Peter glanced up.

"I need you to sign these forms."

"Sure." he scanned over them. " Requesting formal authentication?"

"New case Jones and I are working..." she chuckled roughly. "Organized crime recovered a painting. Not sure if it's a forgery or stolen so..."

"Must be good if it is a forgery."

"It is." she hesitated "If I didn't know better, I'd think it might be..." she sighed.

"Yeah." Peter covered his sigh as well.

"Could it be the little guy selling off some of his older stuff..."

"It could be." Peter frowned "but I doubt it. He gets sentimental about funny things."

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"You ok Boss?" She glanced back at the bullpen.

"Yeah." he avoided following her gaze. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"It is... weird... having someone occupying Neal's desk."

"It is." He dredged up a tired smile for the loyal agent " But it was bound to happen eventually..."

Neal paced his prison. It didn't matter that it was pitch black. He knew every inch of the box by pure muscle memory. His back stung and burned as if he had been beaten but he barely noticed. Running his fingers over it revealed unbroken unblemished skin despite the distinct pull of welts. He really didn't expect any different at this point. Pain was his constant companion... as were hunger and thirst, but there were never any visible injuries. He tried not to think about how long he must have been here... but he knew it had to have been far too long to go without eating or drinking anything.

His legs ached from the pacing, but he had nothing else to do. It had been a long time since the lights came on. As much as he hated the darkness, he dreaded the light. Light would mean three easels... three paintings to complete. Light would mean searing pain and blaring noise and bright bright light!

It also meant those stupid notes to give him instructions. The voice hardly ever spoke to him anymore... but there were always post it notes... if he really was dead the H*** was an absurd place. He almost laughed at that thought. "I'm not really dead though..." he reminded himself.

He knew someone watched him, but he had long ago lost any self-consciousness about his nakedness. The lack of clothes was obviously intended to humiliate him but since he was always alone it didn't matter in the big picture of surviving and finding a way out of here, therefore it no longer bothered him.

It did bother him the watchers saw him cry occasionally but he couldn't help it. He still refused to believe he was dead but... he was starting to believe he would never leave this room. That he would languish here until he actually did die and then... then given his luck he would end up haunting this place forever.

Dejectedly he sank into the corner and closed his eyes... "Neal?" the voice sounded suspiciously like Peter "What are you doing?"

"Peter?" He frantically searched the darkness for any sign of the other man.

"You said you would go straight."

"I will, Peter, please get me out of here."

"You aren't going straight. You're forging again" the voice sounded so disappointed "shame on me for hoping... you're a criminal. Look at you. As soon as I take my eyes off you... right back to forgeries."

"No!" Neal was on his knees now looking for his friend. "I promise I will. I can do it. They forced me to make those! They hurt me if I don't do it! Please help me!"

"I'm sorry Neal," Peter sounded hopelessly sad "you're beyond help now."

"No! No please Peter!" he begged desperately "I'm not! I can do better! Please GET ME OUT OF HERE! I'LL GO STRAIGHT! I WILL!"

"Pathetic" A new voice that sounded like Mozzie joined the conversation. "Begging a suit to help you."

"Mozz?" he glanced around again but the room remained pitch black.

"Promising to go straight?" his friend scoffed. "You can't and you know it. You were born to be a con."

"You might be right." he pleaded "Get me out of here and we'll go to Burma just like we were planning before I got caught. Or we can hit the Louvre I've always wanted to test myself against their securit-"

"That's in the past my friend"

"I know but we can find something... that white whale you always wanted."

"We were great once... we really were but not anymore because you wanted "a better future"

"Maybe but I can still choose to go back if you just help me!"

"It's too late for that Mon Frere." Mozz sounded shockingly sad "Far, far too late. You've made all your choices... and look where it got you."

"What's that supposed to mean?'

"Guys like us don't get happy endings my friend... " Neal sank to the floor as realization set in... they weren't here. Not really...

"Boss?" Diana drew his attention from the window. "We picked up another one of those forgeries."

"Still no leads on the forger?"

"Not really." she frowned "Boss maybe if you took a look..." she hesitated stumbling a bit over her next words "I know you picked up a few things from... Caffery... and maybe you can spot something we missed."

Peter sighed "I don't really have time for active cases these days Diana" He really was working on getting home on time... he refused to consider how much it would hurt if Haversham really was selling off Neal's old works... It would mean the little guy was letting go and...

"Yeah, but I know how much you like a challenge, and this guy is good... really good. Maybe even as good as... well good enough to challenge you."

"I'll try to take a look if I find time." he hedged. The truth is he didn't want to be challenged by a talented new forger. He wanted to keep his friend in his position as the biggest challenge of his career.

Five months. It had been five long hard months since he buried Neal, and he couldn't bear for someone else to take any part of his place. No. He needed to focus on the future. His son was due any day and he needed to try to be present for Elizabeth and the baby. Peter closed his eyes to avoid sad expression on the ghost in the glass as he turned to face the younger agent. When he opened them, she avoided his gaze quickly, but he saw the hurt that still lingered in her eyes just the same.

"Boss..." she shook her head fiercely "We all know no one could ever be Caffrey. And I know how much you miss him... we all do. I hope you know that."

"I know."

"I just wanted to remind you you're not alone."

"Thanks." he managed to dredge up a small smile for her.

The paintings were finished... Neal gazed at them debating what messages to hide in them. He'd long ago lost track of how many works he had copied in this room. Long ago lost track of how many times the lights blazed on and how many long dark silences he'd endured. He'd learned to tune out the sad, disappointed voices of his friends... the flickering images of them that floated ghostlike at the edges of his vision so often, he knew they weren't real but they were his only human contact in this place. It felt like he'd been here forever and there was no sign he would ever be anywhere else.

He returned his focus to the paintings with tremendous effort. He needed to hide his message quickly before the Voice noticed he was done. He had to keep sending his pleas for help out if only to convince himself he didn't really believe what the voice told him.

"I'm not dead." he whispered into the silence "I'm not dead..." he didn't bother to swipe at the tears running down his cheeks. Slowly he lay the paint brush down... he just couldn't ... He didn't believe the voice but...he needed time to think of a new stratagy. The expected pain flared as always and carried him into the darkness.

Peter frowned in concentration as he stared at the paintings... 8 of them, lined up neatly in the evidence room. He didn't doubt there were more they hadn't picked up. Diana was right, this new forger was good. Maybe even as good as Neal had been. Thinking of Neal still caused his eyes to sting and his throat to ache after the longest 8 months of his life. It also triggered a thought in his mind. Vanity... Neal had signed his work... Curtis Hagon had too. Maybe just maybe they would get lucky, and this guy had an ego too.

It took nearly half an hour of careful examination before he spotted it. An H and an E tucked just below the father's collar in Rembrandt's the Jewish bride. Jubilant, he called Diana over...

"Look right there!" he pointed to the letters " there is an H and an E right under the collar..." he trailed off, his enthusiasm fading as his eyes caught tiny lines that seemed to form more letters. Maybe he imagined the signature.

"I don't know boss, it's a long shot," the younger agent peered at the spot "this looks like it could be an L and a p too." she said her finger trailing slightly to the right.

Peter followed the possibly imaginary letters across the shoulder of the robe. H..E..L..P.. a chill ran up his spine. The next lines could make an M and an E and suddenly he stumbled back, the color draining from his face as the whole message became clear.

"Boss?" Diana's voice sounded like it was miles away "Are you Ok?" He barely heard her.

H...E..L..P M..E P..E..T..E..R N...C

It was his imagination. It had to be because... because...

"Diana," he whispered, choking on the words "What do all of the letters you see spell?"

She leaned in peering intently through the magnifying lense. He saw her pale slightly as well.

"Peter?" she stared at the painting then at him. Silence fell for a long moment " Boss should I be requesting an exhumation?"