After waking up, Neal tried to recollect the events of the past night. He had no idea how he had ended up in hospital. As far as he was concerned, he should be still in his bathroom. Someone must have found him there and must have decided that it was worth a try to save him.

Caffrey looked around to make out the facts. A fluid was dripping out of an IV bag into his arm. The walls were painted in a friendly yellow color and had windows without bars. The name tag around his arm labeled him as a patient of the New York Presbyterian Hospital. So now he had not only an anklet but a bracelet as well...

So far, so good. Maybe, he should count his blessings:

1. He was alive

2. He felt alive

3. He was in a nice hospital and not in a nasty prison infirmary

No. 3 might change in the short term. If his handler has come to his apartment, he'll have figured out this has been an attempted escape.

Speaking of the devil ... The door opened, and a tired looking Peter Burke entered with a cup of coffee. The agent was surprised to find the patient awake. "Hey, you must have just woken up? Always an overachiever! The doctors said it might take 10 to 14 hours until you come round."

Neal still tried to connect the dots. "How long have I been out?"

His handler shrugged. "No idea. I found you around 9:30 this morning. At that time, you've been unconscious for quite a while, but I don't know how long exactly. It's almost 6 in the evening now. It was a bit of a shock to see you knocked out on the floor. Why can't guys like you just have a normal flu? Seriously, malaria?"

So it has been Burke who has found him. Caffrey gathered the bits of information together. "How did you know it's malaria instead of just a flu?"

"Frankly, I thought it's the flu until you've had a seizure. This was pretty terrifying, by the way. Then Mozzie showed up and diagnosed malaria. For once, I was glad for his appearance."

So Moz hasn't left the country either. "Is he around? Mozzie, I mean."

The agent rolled his eyes. "No. Although, he has been here. Disguised as a doctor, of course. He's really paranoid, you know that? You have to sign some forms to enter the tropical disease ward, and he didn't want to be in the system. "

The sick consultant apprehended that his handler had been with him in hospital all day. Presumably, to ensure that he wouldn't take flight. What other reason should he have to waste a full work day?

Peter kept on talking. "So he showed up in scrubs wearing a surgical mask. Reading his name tag, I had to send him home. Doogie Houser M.D.! Really, can't you talk him out of these dramatics?"

Neal chuckled, but then he realized it made no sense to put off the unpleasant task ahead. "In my apartment, I assume that you've seen ... things."

"If you've referred to the false passport, your packed getaway bag, and a stack of Mexican pesos, then you'll be right." The agent was lost for words, clueless how to clear up this mess. He had hoped to put off the unpleasant talk a bit longer. Or maybe skip the talk completely and settle for a friendly slap on the back.

Finally, he went on. "Listen, I don't know what to say. I'm awfully sorry. I hate to state the obvious, but I shouldn't ..."

The sick consultant lied back in his bed and tuned out. He knew by heart what his handler was about to tell him. Bottom line was he would be sent back to prison. He has drawn the Go-To-Jail-card. Therefore, it was needless to listen to the sermon. While Burke went on with his speech, only some key words made his way to Caffrey's mind. Enough to validate his assumptions.

"... blame you ... jerk ... failed miserably ... sorry ... disappointed ... you're a criminal ... prison, wearing an orange jumpsuit ... believe in justice ... hard for me ... your ways around the law ... arrest ... son of a bitch."

Peter had spoken almost without breathing in between. Now he looked at Neal expectantly.

Caffrey decided to make the best of it, slapping on a smile. Only his eyes couldn't conceal the pain and fear. he felt. "Will you come to visit me? You see, it's pretty boring in there. Maybe you could convince Elizabeth to bake a cake. You know I love her chocolate tarte. And you could smuggle in some decent coffee."

Burke stared at him dumbfounded. "You haven't listened to anything I've just said, have you?"

The consultant tried to remain calm. Even though, it was getting harder by the minute. "I've heard enough."

Now, his handler got upset. "I don't think so. Why don't you ever listen to me? I guess I have to repeat my apology then. Now, please, do me a favor and listen carefully this time."

Apparently, this has excited Neal's curiosity enough to actually follow Peter's biding.

Word by word, the agent repeated his speech. "I'm awfully sorry. I hate to state the obvious, but I shouldn't ... but I shouldn't have been such a pain in the backside. I shouldn't have blamed you for trying to help me.

Probably, you were right calling me Burke the jerk. I've failed miserably as a friend and I'm sorry that I have disappointed you across the board.

I've known from the start that you're a criminal; probably some part of you will always remain criminal. I should have accepted that and rather acknowledged your will to change, and the achievements you've made.

I haven't been fair with you.

Most certainly, I would be still in prison, wearing an orange jumpsuit, without you. I've always believed in justice, but I doubt that I had been acquitted of the charge if James' confession wouldn't have turned up. It's hard for me to admit that your ways around the law might have been my last resort.

Thank you for coming to my rescue. We'll still have to bring down Hagen and arrest him, of course/ We can't let him get away with it. I'll need your help to do this. Therefore, I do hope that you're able to forgive me. If that's ok with you, let's arrest that son of a bitch."

This time, Burke has spoken slowly, making sure that the message hit home.

Finally, he asked his CI, "Did you understand me this time?"

There was an arch smile on Caffrey's face. "Yeah, bits and pieces. But my hearing might be impaired. Could you please repeat the part with you failing miserably and me being your last resort? I might have missed some of the details."

His handler groaned. "Smart aleck."

Neal smiled, though he wasn't convinced yet, still needing confirmation. "All jesting aside, do you really mean it?"

Brown eyes met blue ones when Peter affirmed his statement. "Yes, I mean it with all my heart. I am sorry. Really, awfully, dreadfully sorry."

He paused, but after a while he went on. "Furthermore, my wife told me in no uncertain terms that I have to sleep in the attic until I apologize and make good the damage. To quote my smart wife, hell would rather freeze over before I would be back on her good side without righting the wrong first."

El had more or less urged the ex-criminal to free her husband by whatever means. But you'd have to respect that she didn't feign innocence or cooked up an excuse for her deeds. So, Neal replied with slight amusement. "You've really married a smart wife. I respect that. Though, she can be a bit scary at times, too."

Peter nodded his consent, and Neal remembered another embarrassing detail. "In my apartment, apart from the other stuff, I've written a sentimental letter, have you seen it?"

His handler seemed to be uncomprehending. "I don't interfere in your love life. Way too complicated for me. If you misplace a love letter, it'll be your problem. Probably, you have to write another poem for your lady."

"I don't have a complicated love live. I don't have a love life at all. The anklet, you remember?" But the world's best con artist wasn't distracted so easily. "You haven't answered my question. Have you seen the letter?"

"Maybe I have, maybe not. Never admit anything was good advice I've been given once. Although, I'd be willing to answer your question if you tell me first why there was a macuahuitl in your room - which had a striking resemblance to one that went missing recently."

Neal decided to change the subject. "The weather is really nice outside, isn't it?"

Peter smirked. "I've known that you've taken it."

The culprit didn't show any remorse. "I know that you've known it."

His handler chuckled. "I know that you've known that I've known it. But I wasn't talking about that casual theft some weeks ago. I was talking about 8 years ago."

"Oh!"

Peter threw him a questioning look. "Are we good?"

And his friend agreed "Yes, we're good."

AN:

I really, really hope that Peter and Neal will get back to being friends. Let's hope for Thursday, fellow White Collar addicts.

So, my story is complete. Thanks for reading and all your lovely comments. Writing wouldn't be half as fun without them. Fortunately, reviews don't have calories. Otherwise, I would have to spend much more time doing workouts.