Hi everyone! Merry Christmas - here's an update! :)

Hope you guys like it, and have a very safe and happy holidays and happy new year!

~cosette141


Neal blinked.

The tallies on the wall stared right back.

Neal shut his eyes.

"Neal, you're talking five years and change."

"Who runs with a month left on a four year sentence?"

"I missed her by two days."

Neal opened his eyes. If he'd only been faster—been better—he would have known Kate was in trouble before it was too late. He would have broken out ahead of time. He would have found her, and he would have saved her. He'd be somewhere, probably Italy or Paris, with Kate right now. He wondered how happy they'd be. No prison. No Peter.

No Peter.

Why did that thought hurt?

Neal screwed his eyes shut.

"Can I think about it?"

The words had slipped out before he could stop them. They'd surprised him. No part of him wanted to stay here. Every part of him had been ready to take the deal as quickly as Peter could draw it up.

"I have to know who killed Kate."

"I'll find out. I'll tell you. That's how this has to work."

Maybe Neal should have known this was coming as a condition for taking the deal. Hell, it was a condition when he took the deal in the first place. But the urge—the blinding, painful need—to get out from behind these stone and steel walls and find the bastard who did this…

Neal opened his eyes, finding his hands shaking. He curled them into fists, resting his chin on them.

How can Peter expect him to sit on the sidelines? If it had been Elizabeth? He'd just have given the case to someone else?

But, Peter never liked Kate. Peter believed that she didn't love Neal. So, Peter being Peter, that meant that he'd never understand why Neal felt this way.

"Let's just run."

Did no one understand that Neal couldn't care less about his freedom? About the anklet, about prison—that nothing mattered except getting justice—or something sweeter—was all he cared about? That caring about his own damn freedom when the woman he loved just lost her life, at his hands

His hands shook harder. Neal tried to stop them, but the muscles wouldn't comply. They kept shaking, as if cold. Neal stared at them. Held one hand over the other, squeezing in an attempt to still them. They didn't.

Staying here wasn't an option. Running…. was beginning to feel like less of an option. Mozzie had a point. If he split prison and the anklet, and stayed in New York City following the same trail Peter was following to Kate's killer… Peter would catch him in seconds.

Going back on the anklet really seemed like his only choice. It wasn't the easiest way to still find who did this to Kate…

But at least he would be out of here.

Neal shut his eyes.

"Can I think about it?"

He scoffed.

As if he needed to think about it more.


"Maybe you should talk to him again."

Elizabeth gave Peter a mock glare from behind the wheel. "Peter," she said gently, "you did great with me last night. You almost did perfectly on the pop quiz."

It was Peter's turn for the glare. "That's still not fair, I completely—"

"'I'm fine' never means someone is fine, Peter."

"But why bother say it if you don't—"

"Just talk to him," she said with a smile, reaching to rub his shoulder. "Just be a friend. No work talk. No anklet talk. Just… friends."

"Shooting the breeze?" offered Peter.

She smiled again. "Shooting the breeze," she confirmed.

Peter let out a breath, then got out of the car, heading toward the prison entrance.

Elizabeth had been exaggerating how long they actually spent going over her version of compassion, which was really just a conversation before he went to bed as he tried to come up with what he was supposed to say to Neal that had nothing to do with work or anklets or forged artwork. Outside of "how 'bout them Mets," he was out.

But one thought of that haunted look in Neal's eyes had Peter thinking maybe, just maybe, he could tough this one out.

So when he saw Neal enter the visitation room, Peter was already seated with a smile. The guards left them alone and Neal cautiously approached the table, giving Peter a suspicious look, saying slyly, "Elizabeth said not to talk about work?"

The smile slipped from Peter's face. "Okay, how did you—"

Neal shook his head a little to himself as he sat down at the table. As Peter watched, he could see it - Neal looked better. Twenty-four hours had seemed to do wonders. There was a touch of color back in his face. He still looked far too ghostly, but that touch of color was something, and Peter was willing to take whatever he could get. "So," said Neal with a grin that came easier for him, but looked like all the smiles Peter had once believed. "Mets?"

Peter nodded, accepting his transparency, simply saying, "They're doing good."

Neal nodded along, and the silence became just a little awkward. Nothing Peter had prepared was coming to mind, so he searched for the only thing he could think of. "So," he said, "you're taking my wife to an art show?"

Neal lifted his head, a little of the old Neal crawling back in. "An art show?" he repeated. "If by art show you mean she's designing one of the biggest art events of the year, then yes."

Sadly Peter hadn't known that, for he'd only caught part of that conversation through all the thoughts of Neal this past week. But Neal seemed a little more himself as he judged Peter's knowledge of the finer things. And that's what he came here to do, right? "Right," said Peter, nodding.

More silence, and it curled just the smallest bit around Peter's chest. He fought not to loosen his collar. He could chase murderers and yet emotional conversations gave him the creeps.

This time, it was Neal who cut it. "Back at the office?"

Peter shifted in the uncomfortable seat, nodding. "I am," he said. "It's been…" Far less interesting without you. "Good."

Neal nodded, and the quiet stretched again, until he said, "Elizabeth wouldn't come in instead, huh?"

Peter caved. "I asked her, and she said no." Both men broke out little grins. They faded. "Look, Neal…" He hesitated. Swallowed. Shifted. Neal waited, watching him. Peter breathed out. "I know I'm not… I know I haven't been… the best at…" He shifted, practically feeling Elizabeth glaring at him. "I just…hope you know..."

"I'll take the deal."

Peter's words dissolved and he looked up sharply. Neal was looking at him. "What?"

"The deal," Neal repeated. "If it gets reinstated. I'll do it."

The relief that coursed through Peter's system was hard to keep out of his voice. "You will?"

Neal nodded. "Yeah."

Peter held the questions inside, filing them away for later. "Uh, well… well, good. They should be coming to a choice in the next day or two."

Neal nodded.

Silence descended a little once again, though not as suffocating as the last few. Peter hesitated for a long moment.

"You said goodbye to everyone but me. I just wanna know why."

"Because you're the only one who could change my mind."

"Did I?"

The question was on the tip of his tongue, yearning to be voiced.

Did I?

Peter opened his mouth to ask it once and for all—

—when the keys clanged in the door and the guards reappeared.

Peter screwed his eyes shut for half a second, then stood. Neal did as well.

"I'll… I'll tell you when they come to a decision," said Peter.

Neal let out a breath, nodding.

Peter kicked himself, turning to go.

"Peter."

Peter turned.

"I do... know." said Neal quietly, and it took a moment for Peter to realize what he meant. Even quieter, Neal added, "Thanks."

Peter felt the ghost of a smile.

"I just don't want him to get hurt."

"Have you told him that?"

It wasn't in as many words, but it was as many as he was capable of. And Neal heard them nonetheless.

Something told Peter Elizabeth would be proud.


"You called?"

Hughes looked up from his desk at Peter's voice. He gestured to the chair in front of his desk, but Peter didn't take it. He closed the door and stood behind the chair, knowing what this was about before Hughes had to say a word. It's been two days since he visited Neal last, two days more of nail biting and swimming in paperwork to take his mind off things. Which never did. "They made a decision?" asked Peter hesitantly.

Hughes hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "They have."

Peter felt his chest tighten, and he tried not to show it in his face. Instead, he let irritation flood in to take fear's place. "Took their sweet time."

"You know they had to run things through proper channels, Burke," said Hughes. He sighed as Peter waited, then, "They're offering him his old deal."

Peter felt relief wash through like a damn waterfall.

Thank god.

He couldn't help the relieved grin. "Great. That's great. Is the paperwork processed or—"

"It's…" began Hughes, stopping Peter. The tone of his voice begged a condition. And it was a cruel twist of irony to hear the same tone from Hughes that Neal heard from himself. "It's not as easy as that."

"But you said—"

"The deal will be reinstated," confirmed Hughes, nodding, "But you two are both under heavy scrutiny. The same conditions under the first deal apply, Peter. They want to see results, and after this… display… Caffrey needs to prove, now even more so than the last time, that he's worth the FBI's time and resources. And more importantly, our trust."

Peter nodded. It wasn't unexpected; they were both on a very short leash after everything that happened. Once Neal was back, they needed to close a case fast, with flying damn colors. "I've talked to Neal. He knows what's expected of him. I'll make sure we get a solid caseload started by the end of the week, and—"

"You've got some time," said Hughes, leaning forward, crossing his hands over his desk. "Justice will have the deal reinstated by the end of next month, so you can—"

"Wait," said Peter, edge creeping into his voice. "The end of next month? But—Reese," he said, his voice dropping an octave as he began to realize what he meant. "Where do they expect Neal to be while they're getting the deal reinstated?"

Hughes hesitated, seeming quite reluctant to say it. But he did. "Right where he is." Then, as Peter felt his blood begin to boil, "It's six weeks, Peter. He'll—"

"Six weeks?" exclaimed Peter. "What—six weeks?!" He ran a hand through his hair. "What the hell takes six weeks? Are they sending the paperwork by horse and buggy?"

Hughes let out a controlled breath. But he met Peter's livid gaze. "They're calling it protocol due to the… sensitive situation." Before Peter could interject— "But I presume it's more of a slap on the wrist for Caffrey. They aren't fond of him, but they are fond of your closure rate with him. My guess is they want him to pay even a small price for what they aren't fully convinced wasn't an attempt to escape. And, technically, he's still in prison, Peter. Always has been. They have every right to leave him there."

"Pay a price?" whispered Peter. "What do they think he's been doing?"

Hughes held up a hand. "Now, Peter. Before you fly off the handle, Caffrey will keep his two 24/7 guards that I've hand picked, and have already protected him at least once. I trust them and so should you. They will remain his guards until he leaves. He'll be safe."

That had been one of his concerns, so a layer of his fear eased. But it didn't ease the anger still furiously coursing through him.

"Peter," came Hughes' voice, making him open his eyes. "It was a long shot that they even agreed to give him a second chance. Wait the six weeks."

Somewhere deep down, Peter knew he was right. It didn't help feeling the intense irritation with the simple fact that it happened, but Hughes was right with one thing: it had been the longest of long shots, and they did it.

And thank god for that.


Peter sat down on the bench in the visitation room, getting really tired of preparing himself for difficult conversations.

He needed to give Neal the good news….

...and the not-so-good news.

But it's still the best news possible overall.

Peter was trying desperately to hold onto that.

Peter waited until Neal was led in, sat down and they were left alone before he opened his mouth to speak, but Neal best him to it. "Three visits in one week?" His brow lifted, a little apprehension shining in cracks of blue. A little shift, and Peter doubted his discomfort came from the awful bench. "They make a decision?"

He only assumes I'll only come if my wife or pressing news makes me.

Peter let out a breath. "They did," he said, and he watched Neal take his hands from where they'd been clasped on the tabletop, pulling them beneath it. Peter gave him a tired smile. "They're offering the old deal."

Neal's eyes snapped to his. "They are?"

Peter nodded, the nod a little stunted, heavy with conditions. "Yes… the same deal. Working with me to fill out the rest of your sentence. Anklet. Even more scrutiny and pressure on our closure rate."

Neal's brows shifted at Peter's tone. "What's the bad news?"

Peter half-glared at him. "You couldn't let me get through the good news, could you?"

Neal's face didn't change.

Peter sighed. "There's… protocol dictates—" Peter watched Neal's eyes darken, like diving to the deepest depths of a sea, only to be able to see less and less. He jumped to the point. "You've got to stay here six more weeks."

Even Neal—conman extraordinaire—couldn't hide the mix of shock and… and something Peter could have almost sworn was fear. "Six—" began Neal, the composure from before gone in an instant, showing Peter once again the canvas without the paint. "Six weeks? But—" His eyes clouded over even more, and Peter watched Neal sink into the emotions Peter himself had been wrestling with all night. "I can't believe this." He ran a hand through his hair, shutting his eyes, whispering so quietly Peter almost didn't hear, "I didn't even do it."

Peter felt something hurt deep in his chest. The visual of Neal there, reminded him so much of a kid. It shocked him just how… how innocent it was.

Innocent.

A word he'd never once have thought to use with regard to Neal.

"I know," said Peter, for lack of a better response. His voice came out rougher than he expected, his own anger chilling the words.

Neal lifted his head, his eyes a brighter blue than Peter's ever seen them, alight with a dark emotion. "What is it, some sort of punishment?" He laughed then, that humorless laugh that sent a chill down Peter's spine. "To think about what I've done?"

And that's probably all he was doing.

Oh, hell.

"Look," said Peter, knowing starting off a compassionate speech with look probably wasn't in Elizabeth's handbook, "I know… I can't imagine how hard this has been for you," he said quietly, and Neal met his eyes. "I'm pissed as all hell too. I'm just… I'm just glad it's six weeks and not six years."

Something changed in Neal's eyes, as if he was seeing the news in a slightly better light, the same way Peter had after thinking of the alternative. "I just need you to wait it out for six weeks. Then you're back at your desk, driving me crazy all day."

It didn't make him laugh, but it did calm whatever emotion was rolling in his eyes. And that was close enough.

Neal seemed to take a moment to compose himself. Which, even after having seen it that first day, was still something to witness. But he finally met Peter's eyes, looking a little more like the Neal Peter knew. "Thank you, Peter." The words were quiet, but were some of the most honesty he's ever seen from the younger man.

Peter smiled.

The doors clanged to announce the return of Neal's guards, and Neal shut his eyes briefly before standing.

"Neal," said Peter, making Neal turn. "Do you remember The Casanova?"

Neal's brow tilted. "What, the thief?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah. He was cornered by the FBI in Milan back in '02, but he slipped them." He raised his own brow. "What did we do wrong?"

Neal cocked his head. "Didn't they catch him two years ago?"

"They did," said Peter, nodding. "I'm asking out of curiosity. No one knows how he got away that day."

Neal's brows lifted. "I mean, I guess if it was me, I'd have—"

"Think about it," interrupted Peter, standing himself. "I want details. You can let me know tomorrow."

Neal's brows kneaded, then came to a conclusion… that confused him just as much, in a different way. "Wait, you're…?"

It hurt just how surprised and confused he was at the notion.

"Yes," said Peter. "I'll be back tomorrow afternoon." At Neal's continued confusion, he said, "What? You think just because you've got six more weeks till you're at the office that you get out of having to see me every day?"

The words every day caught Neal by even more surprise. He—Neal Caffrey—struggled to find words.

Peter stopped him before he had to. "Casanova. Think about it." Peter turned to go, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw something he hasn't seen before.

Neal smiled.

Not the Neal Caffrey smile, not the savvy, composed, conman smile. Not the attempt at composure, like the light of an overcast sky.

His real smile.

And damn was it brighter than the sun shining in through the barred window.

Six weeks.

They'd be long, but Peter knew one thing for sure.

Neal won't be going through them alone.


A/n: Just wanted to give you guys a quick note about the story - I really wanted this story to be a full gap filler for those 2 months that go by, but I just don't think I have it in me to find two months' worth of prison adventures for Neal lol. I feel like once the deal had been reinstated, that life for both Neal and the others will be fairly the same for those remaining weeks. I don't feel like writing something so repetitive, and I doubt it would be interesting to read.

But I'm not done with the story! I'm just going to be doing a time jump. So this marks the end of Neal in prison, and the next chapter will pick up with Neal leaving prison. I'm really looking forward to delving into the emotions of the episode Withdrawal, and I think there are a lot of wonderful missed opportunities spread throughout season 2, especially as Neal and Peter get closer to finding Kate's killer (don't even get me started on Mozzie getting shot!)

Also, I've had a few comments suggesting that it was 3 months, but if you go to the season 2 episode "withdrawal" and fast forward to 5 minutes and 33 seconds, it says 2 months have passed. I'm rounding the remainder of Neal's time in prison at this point to six weeks, give or take. I still don't fully understand why the writers went with 2 months, so I went with the best theory I could think of, and my best guess why Neal wanted to think about it. I suppose it might have just been the writers wanting to tease us with doing a jump cut to Neal breaking into the bank in Withdrawal to make us wonder what he chose. *shrugs* So I hope what I came up with sounds like it might make sense haha.

I hope you're all okay with leaving the prison part of the story! Thank you guys so much for coming along this journey with me, it's so wonderful to be able to share it with you. I'm really excited about writing these next emotional gap fillers so I can't wait to get started!

I'll be back soon!

~cosette141