A/N - First off, thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, or favorited this story. You guys rock. Second, this chapter is dedicated to banan, for writing a review that pushed me into finishing this chapter, and made me grin like an idiot. J Third, I know that these chapters don't seem terribly long, and I'm sorry, but I'm doing my best. I can picture this in my head just fine, it's just translating it onto paper (well, figuratively, at least) that's giving me trouble. Ooh, and I've finished seeing "Chuck" all the way up to "Chuck Versus the Nemesis" (awesome, btw, but I feel that nobody's being fair to poor misunderstood beautiful Bryce. …And that the scene with his shirt off wasn't nearly long enough. *Drool*) Oh, and as always, please read and review. …Or review and read, but that way makes less sense. Oh well. To each their own.

Disclaimer: Still not mine, darn it.

Warnings: Always assume spoilers for anything aired.

Chapter Two

Neal wore the face of someone who'd just seen their world implode. Like someone who'd watched their house burn down, every photograph and memory, all the promise of a future there charred to ash. A horrified expression, mixed with disbelief, and anger, and grief, because how could this happen? Neal stumbled backwards, almost drunkenly away from Fowler's body, and just stood for a moment, frozen, staring and shocked. Then, like a steel trap had slammed down, the emotion left his face, and his back straightened, and his breath evened out, slow and steady. His voice was cool and controlled when he told the security guard "Give me your phone."

The guard looked like a startled animal, flickering frightened eyes back and forth between Neal and Fowler. "I-I, uhhm…"

"Give me your phone."

The order in his tone had the guard handing it over before he even seemed to register he was doing it.

Neal dialed a number, and quickly held it to his ear. "Moz-"

Peter could hear the man on the other side in the echoing silence of the room.

"Neal, thank God. Do you know what it was like, to show up at your apartment, expecting to see Neal, but hey, no Neal. Just a dog wearing your tracker, which normally I would be all for, but no, you have to go off on your own, without me, and I had to call the Suit of all people-"

"-Moz-"

"-And you know that that goes against every fiber of my being. I mean, I'm going to have to bathe in ammonia just to get the bureaucracy off of me-"

"-Moz!" Neal cut in again, "Pineapple!"

There was an audible "click", and then Mozzie's voice was gone. Neal handed the cell back to the guard, who pocketed it, and looking rather sick, made vague motions to the door. "I'm, uhh, going to just-" And he left, his shoes echoing off the staircase as he practically sprinted away.

Peter mentally rolled his eyes.

"Pineapple?" he asked, perplexed.

"Got it from a friend," Neal replied distractedly, kneeling back down to check Fowler's pockets. He found a wallet and a cell phone, but after a quick look through the wallet, put it back. He made as though he did the same with the cell, but Peter had been working with him long enough to not miss the sleight-of-hand as he slid it into his own pocket.

"Why did he call you Mr. Larkin?" Diana asked, voicing the question Peter was dying to know.

Neal shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

Peter didn't miss the lie, either, or the way Neal shifted his stance, like he did when he was getting ready to run. "Diana, cuff him."

Diana came forward and reached for him, with the cuffs in one hand, but faster than you could blink, Neal twisted around and locked one end around her wrist, and another around a heavy table leg.

"Sorry," he told her, sounding almost genuine, "but I gotta go."

Like a flash, he was out the door, and Peter gave chase.

It was almost a relief to be back in familiar territory.

"Neal!" Peter cried, following the felon out into the street. Wow, he can move fast. Neal turned a corner, and Peter was worried he was going to lose him, but when he followed he nearly ran into the man in question as he stood waiting for him.

Neal's eyes locked on Peter's, and it was almost hypnotizing in the intensity of his stare. Peter felt a new and deeper understanding of the concept of "deer-in-the-headlights", as he found he couldn't look away, couldn't move, could hardly breathe.

Neal's voice was low and strong, but the way he spoke made his statement seem more like a question, as though he were seeking reassurance for something he feared to ask. "I can trust you."

Peter nodded. "You can trust me Neal."

"Do you trust me?"

This, Peter thought, This is a defining moment. This is where I make a choice, that good or bad, I can't take back. He thought, really thought, about the man before him. He thought about the crimes he'd committed, the laws he'd broken, the mess he'd left in his wake. He thought about the rash decisions, and lack of impulse, and the sure way he'd held a gun. He thought about all the things he didn't know about criminal.

And then he thought about all the things he did know about his friend. About the times he'd put his life on the line to help Peter, the time he gave Peter the only oxygen in the room with a simple "I trust you." He thought about the way he seemed to honestly love to see people smile, with a simple compliment or carefully crafted origami. He thought about his loyalty, to Kate, to Moz, to June, to Peter and El. The way he made El smile, when he'd suddenly appear in the mornings to steal breakfast and a cereal-box toy, with Oliver Twist eyes and a child's gleeful grin.

Yes, he thought. Yes. "I trust you."

Neal searched his face, then nodded, once. "Follow me."

Peter quickly fell into step besides Neal. "Where are we going?"

Neal smiled slightly, but his body was still tense and his eyes still obsessively alert.

"Thursday."