Peter stepped out onto the terrace of the hotel, raising one hand against the brilliant sun. Quite a difference from the chill, rainy forecast for the folks back home, he thought as he scanned the area.

Thank goodness for professional conferences in warm places, like Miami.

The FBI ran these occasionally, bringing together some of the top agents in various fields to share experiences and knowledge. Experts outside the Bureau were invited as well, offering new perspectives to the issues faced by law enforcement.

Of course, not all of the outside experts offered solutions that could quite be called legal…

It made him feel good to have been invited to this one, because certainly not all of the agents around the country who specialized in white collar crime could attend. But his case closure and conviction rates over the last few years had garnered him some attention within that group of peers. And his closure rate over the last twenty months or so had led to an invitation to do a presentation and participate as a panelist in a couple of sessions.

Of course, since a good deal of that success had to do with his partner, Neal had been invited too.

It had taken some wrangling, first with Hughes and then with the marshals service, to get that little trip approved. But in the end, the two of them had made the trip north to south two days before. And now, after a day and a half of opening remarks, panels, and breakout sessions, they had half a day off before heading back to the meetings on Wednesday morning.

Peter felt good about the way those first meetings had gone – and even better about the way Neal had handled things. As a senior FBI agent, Peter had done presentations on his work before, and answered questions about that work. But this – this was all new to Neal. And it was the first time in Peter's memory that an ex-con FBI consultant had been included in one of these sessions.

To be honest, there had been some tense times at first. Much like in the New York office, some agents couldn't – wouldn't – accept that a criminal had anything to offer, or that he should be allowed into the inner workings of law enforcement. But as the first panel went on, something happened – something that Peter wouldn't have believed if he hadn't been there to witness it himself.

Neal won them over.

Oh, maybe not all of them, but definitely the majority. He did it by acknowledging his own situation, finding humor in the chase that Peter had led before being caught, carefully deflecting some questions that delved into areas that were too private, and being honest – honest! – about the challenges of learning to work within the system. Through it all, the Caffrey charm worked its magic.

By the end of the first panel, people were starting to believe. By the second panel, they were taking notes as Neal talked. More notes than when Peter talked, actually…

His eyes roamed the terrace and down onto the beach. Neal hadn't been in his room, so presumably he was down here somewhere…

There!

He spotted his partner at a table just off the terrace, at the start of the sand that led down to the ocean. Wonderful that the organizers had managed to get this conference booked at a hotel right on the beach.

As he made his way toward the table, he realized that it seemed strange that Neal would be sitting there, alone, when there was so much going on. On the sand just a short distance away there were several volleyball nets set up, with teams playing – or attempting to play – the game. Just beyond, the ocean beckoned, the water glistening blue under the sun, gentle swells inviting swimmers. Off to one side, a beachside bar had music going, and people dancing. To the other side, a swimming pool awaited those who didn't want to deal with salt water.

And yet Neal was sitting all alone, under the umbrella of a small table. At first he looked dressed for the beach, with sunglasses and a tank top, but as he got closer Peter could see that the younger man was wearing long wind pants.

Even though Peter knew he'd been told to pack swim trunks and shorts for the trip. They were going to the beach after all…

Peter's own legs seemed even whiter under the bright sun as he approached the table and unslung the laptop case from his shoulder. A scantily clad server was passing by and he caught her attention, pointing at the nearly empty bottle of beer in front of Neal. "A couple more of those, please." He sat down and gestured toward the beach. "I thought you'd be out enjoying the sand and the surf."

Neal shrugged and took another sip of his beer. "I'm fine here."

"Afraid your legs can't pass the beach test?"

"My legs are just fine."

"Then why are you just sitting here instead of out playing in the sun? This whole area is in your radius." It was subtle, but he caught it when the younger man winced. "Is that what this is about?"

Neal sighed and drained his beer, stretching out his left leg. The thin material of the wind pants pulled tight against the tracking anklet. "No one else seems to have one of these."

"Same as in New York."

"True, but long pants are kind of the uniform of the day back home. Sometimes I can almost forget it's there. But out on the beach… it might be a little obvious."

"It's part of the deal, Neal."

"Peter Burke, master of the understatement." The server came with two bottles of beer, and Neal waited while Peter paid before continuing. "It's different here."

"I don't see how. FBI agents there, FBI agents here."

"Yeah, well, the ones here have never been privy to the sight of me being perp-walked out of the office in handcuffs."

"Everyone knows you were cleared."

"Sure that erases the mental picture."

"Neal…"

"See, the people back home also get the whole anklet visual too. The big production about taking the tracker off when you're sending me undercover on something – which is apparently the only time I'm trustworthy. And then, of course, the big show to put it back on."

The glass walls in the office did make the process a bit public. "Neal, the terms of your release are what they are. But we can make things less public if that would help." Because, yes, sometimes he could be rather vocal about calling Neal out on the tracker…

"It doesn't matter so much there anymore," Neal replied. "Everyone has already pretty much made up their mind if they respect me or not. They either cheer or wince when you threaten to send me back to prison."

"Neal, they respect you."

"Not everyone, Peter. I'd say it's maybe fifty-fifty. But they're good at pretending around you."

Mental note – pay more attention to the other agents interacting with Neal. It could be a vital piece of an operation at some point.

"I really didn't think it was going to bother me here," Neal continued. "I mean, I don't know any of these people, they don't know me. And hey, a chance to get out of New York? I was going to have fun."

"So what changed?"

Neal paused for a drink from the fresh bottle of beer. "They respected me," he finally said softly. "Well, not everyone, but most of them. I wasn't expecting that."

"They do," Peter agreed. "I've noticed that. And you deserve it, Neal. You've done good work."

Neal shrugged. "It means something to me, Peter. More than I thought it would. I don't want to mess it up."

"I can understand that," Peter said slowly. "But you do understand, right, that you broke the law when you escaped, and there are consequences…"

That drew a short, bitter laugh from Neal. "Really, Peter? After all this time, you're going to ask me that?" He paused, shaking his head. "Yes, I understand, Peter. I screwed up and there are consequences. But do you understand," he continued, leaning across the table, "that if it wasn't for outside manipulation – by a crooked F-B-I agent, by the way – I would have served out my original sentence and not been looking at another four years for escape?"

"Neal…"

"Don't worry, Peter, I won't let you down at the panels. I promise to be 'on' for all of those. I'm just not going out there. In fact," Neal said, getting to his feet. "I think I'll just be up in my room." He dropped a couple of bills on the table for a tip and pointed at the laptop. "You can pull up your homepage and verify that."

Peter just sat there, watching him go. Partway across the terrace, one of the agents – Maggie something, from Seattle, he thought – stopped Neal, inviting him to come and play. All smiles, the other man begged off, with a 'maybe later' promise, and then disappeared inside.

He had planned to work on his presentation for the next morning, which was the whole reason he'd brought the laptop down in the first place. But he found his mind didn't want to wrap itself around that project right now.

If it hadn't been for a crooked FBI agent…

If it hadn't been for Fowler's machinations behind the scenes, he wouldn't have Neal for a partner. And Neal wouldn't have a tracking anklet as a constant reminder of what he had lost…

The card key turned the lights green, disengaging the lock, and he walked into his room, depositing the laptop on the bed. He looked over at the door to the adjoining room, which was ajar.

That had been one of the conditions – separate but adjoining rooms, and the door remained unlocked.

Peter rapped his knuckles on the door and pushed it open.

Neal looked up from the bed. He had pillows propped behind his back, and was reading something.

"Can I come in?"

"Of course you can. It's part of the rules."

It was – and he should have phrased the question differently.

"Do you mind if I come in?"

Neal shrugged. "If you want. But to paraphrase someone, you could be out enjoying the sun and surf."

Peter walked closer, smiling as he saw the title of what Neal had been reading. "The Beginner's Guide to the Rules of Search and Seizure?"

Neal sighed and set the manual aside. "Yeah, well, I finished my other book. And… I was too stubborn to go back downstairs and ask if I could go across the way to the bookstore in that mall." He pushed himself up on the bed. "Peter, I'm sorry…"

"I'm sorry," Peter started, smiling as he realized they had spoken at the same time. "You first. What are you sorry about?"

"I usually don't let the frustration get to me like that. Because, believe it or not, I really do understand that the tracker is part of the deal I made. It's just… I don't know, it's different here."

"Makes you feel good that other people recognize the work you're doing?"

"Yeah, it does," Neal admitted. "So what are you sorry about?"

"I'm sorry if I have missed that some people back in New York are not respecting you. That's not acceptable, and it could jeopardize an assignment. I'll pay more attention."

"Well, hopefully no one will try to frame me for something again anytime soon. That eliminates the whole perp-walk thing."

"True. And I admit, sometimes I have made more of a public deal about the tracker than I needed to." Peter offered a small smile. "I don't think I threaten to send you back to prison quite as often as I used to."

"Yeah, not quite as often."

"I'll watch that too," Peter promised. "I think sometimes I just fall back on that when you get the upper hand – even when we both know I don't mean it."

"Not everyone knows that," Neal said softly.

"Yeah, I need to work on some new material."

"Want some suggestions?"

Peter grinned and shook his head. "Thanks, but I think I'll work on that myself."

Neal smiled too, and finally seemed to relax a little. "Well, I offered," he said. "And really, Peter, I'm fine. You don't need to sit up here with me."

Peter sighed, replaying the internal debate he'd been having since talking to Neal down on the beach. Finally, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his key ring. In addition to keys, the ring also had the security token for logging into the FBI system remotely – and the electronic fob that would unlock the tracking anklet.

"There's about 49.9% of me that's screaming at me not to do this," he said, walking around to the other side of the bed. "But that leaves 50.1% that was listening, and agrees that there was some behind the scenes manipulation that put you where you are." He isolated the electronic key.

He could see the exact moment that realization struck Neal.

"No, Peter, really, I wasn't asking you to take the tracker off. I know that could get you in a lot of trouble – and I've already caused you enough of that."

That earned a genuine smile. "We've made progress," Peter said. "You're considering the consequences of your actions."

"I've had the lesson knocked into my head a few times," Neal admitted.

"Well, I've considered the consequences of this action too," Peter replied. "The only way it comes back to bite me is if you get in trouble down here, or if you tell the marshals. Is either scenario likely?"

"No."

It was one word, but Neal's voice conveyed a promise that made Peter proud.

"If we're going to do this, we need to get a few things straight," he started. Neal just nodded, so Peter continued. "You still need to stay in the area – the hotel, the beach… the mall across the way, though I'm guessing you won't need a new book for a while. Anything else, you need to clear with me."

"Of course."

"You keep your phone on, and with you."

"What if I'm in the water?"

Peter nodded. "That's a fair question. All right, you check your phone at least once an hour."

"I can do that."

"You have the conference schedule with the sessions I expect you to be at?"

Neal pointed toward the television. "On top of the dresser, right there."

"You need to be at those sessions – on time, and stay 'til the end."

"I will. There are even a couple of others I wanted to go to."

"No objections from me," Peter said. "Just don't corrupt anyone."

"Ummm… that was a joke, right?"

Peter grinned. "Yeah, that was a joke. But this isn't – the tracker has to go back on when we go home, no matter how this little experiment goes."

"I understand."

"And Neal, if you run…"

"Peter, I won't," Neal said, softly but firmly. "Well, maybe just a little bit on the beach. But I know I really let you down with Fowler, and the gun, and I know you risked a lot to keep me out of prison. I have really tried to make up for that – I don't want to let you down again."

"You have done a good job recently," Peter admitted. "Which is the only reason I'm considering this. So, are we agreed on the ground rules?"

"I can agree to everything you just said."

Peter reached over and inserted the key. The lights flashed, and the latch disengaged. He pulled the key out, re-engaged the latch, and watched the green light come back on. "As far as the marshals will see, there was a little blip, and you're here at the hotel."

Neal took the anklet, turning it over in his hands. "Won't they notice if it doesn't move at all?"

"So carry it with you to a few panels," Peter suggested.

Neal grinned and nodded. "I'll do that," he agreed. "Peter…"

Peter stood up, holding his hand out to stop Neal's words. "Just go, before that little .2% changes sides and I realize what I'm doing." He stood back as Neal got up, pulled his deck shoes on, and started for the door. "Be careful, have fun – and use sun screen!" he called as Neal disappeared into the hallway.

And as he looked down at the bed, and the empty tracker flashing away, he wondered what he had done…

He went back down to the terrace, laptop in hand. He still needed to work on that presentation…

Peter sat down at the same table where he had met Neal before, opened the case, pulled out the computer and booted it up. He tried to avoid the temptation to look around to see if he could find…

Tried but failed.

Fortunately, it didn't turn out to be difficult to find Neal at all. Barefoot, and clad only in swim trunks, he had joined a volleyball game. And had somehow managed to find himself on an otherwise all-female team, Peter noted.

As he watched, Neal dove into the sand to dig a shot out, popping the ball back into the air. Unfortunately, his teammates were unable to complete the point. But they were right there afterward to help Neal to his feet, and assist him in brushing the sand off his shoulders, his torso, his legs…

"Get a room," Peter muttered, smiling. Satisfied that Neal was safely occupied for the time being, he turned his attention to his presentation.

It wasn't hard to find Neal at dinner that night. All one had to do was follow the laughter to the large table in the corner, where he was holding court with a number of young agents. Mostly women, what a surprise…

Peter's own dining group was mostly men, but two of them were agents he hadn't seen since they were at Quantico together, and it was good to catch up.

At one point he did look up to find Neal looking back at him. The younger man smiled and lifted his champagne flute in a salute.

Peter just nodded and smiled.

It was late when he finally left the hotel's sports bar and made his way up to his room. Inside, he tossed his card key onto the dresser and took his jacket off…

And noticed that the adjoining door to Neal's room was closed.

But their deal had been…

He was just about to knock and open the door when he heard the voices. Yes, definitely voices, plural. Neal and…

Well, he couldn't recognize the other - definitely female - voice, but Neal obviously wasn't alone.

Just out of curiosity, he tried the handle on the door, finding it unlocked.

Apparently no need to worry about where Neal was tonight either, he thought, as he got ready for bed.

Peter had barely taken his seat at the panel table, five minutes early for the start of the early session, when Neal walked into the room. Immaculately dressed in a lightweight tan suit and a blue silk shirt, open at the collar, he walked to the front, stepped up onto the dais, and took his seat.

"Sleep well?" Peter asked, failing to keep a smile from his face.

"Yeah, fine," Neal answered, pouring a cup of coffee. Then he saw the smile. "What?"

"Oh, I wasn't sure you'd be getting any sleep at all."

"Were we that loud?" Neal asked with a grimace.

Peter's grin grew. "No, just when I checked the door adjoining the rooms. Our deal was…"

"Our deal was unlocked, not necessarily open."

"I know. And I assume she was over eighteen and consenting."

"Does the Bureau hire minors?"

"No."

"Then she was over eighteen. And did you hear anything that indicated non-consent?"

"Well, no."

"Let's go with that then."

Peter's response was to laugh, and Neal scowled. "What? A gentleman never tells."

Peter just laughed harder, and was still struggling to get himself under control when the panel started.

The rest of the conference went smoothly, at least from Peter's perspective. Neal showed up for each session Peter had assigned, and participated when asked. He joined Peter and a few other agents for lunch on Thursday, but otherwise seemed to find his own group to eat and party with.

There was a farewell dinner and dance on Friday night. Peter watched with a sense of pride as a number of agents approached Neal, shaking his hand. It was good for Neal, and good for the New York White Collar office as well.

Peter accepted his own good share of congratulations as well – both for his own work, and for the work of pulling together such an unlikely, but successful, team.

The band was billed as Latin fusion, but they played a little bit of everything. Peter never considered himself much of a dancer – and El would back him up on that – but he allowed himself to be dragged out onto the floor a couple of times. Neal, of course, was out for almost every song…

Including what was undoubtedly the most sensuous lambada he'd ever seen. Neal and Maggie truly showed why the dance had been dubbed 'forbidden' over the years…

And after all these years, Neal Caffrey could still surprise the hell out of him.

Saturday arrived, and with it came the knowledge that it was time to go home. Many of the agents from the west coast were gone on early flights while others were still rolling out of bed and enjoying a final breakfast at the hotel.

Peter finished packing, zipping up his bag. He took one final swing through the room, making sure that he hadn't missed anything. He was tempted to 'forget' his old pal Coburn's novel manuscript – obviously he'd had one or two beers too many the night he'd agreed to read and critique it. He'd barely made it through the first chapter before realizing his BIG mistake. But Coburn would probably ask about it…

He stuffed the manuscript into his carryon bag and then went to the door to the next room. "About ready?" he asked.

Neal looked up and nodded, closing his bag. "I'm ready." His eyes strayed to the table by the door, where the tracking anklet sat waiting. "Well, except for one thing."

Peter picked the tracker up, turning it over in his hands. "We can wait until New York," he decided. "It's easier to get through security that way anyway."

He packed the anklet into his carryon, finishing as Neal came into the room with his bags. They made their way downstairs, said some farewells in the lobby, and took a cab to the airport.

Peter pulled up alongside the curb outside of June's and cut the engine. They got out, and he popped the trunk open.

Neal grabbed his suitcase and carryon, setting them on the curb. "Ah, home again."

"Yeah, nothing like the hustle and bustle of New York, huh?"

"Well, the sun and sand weren't bad."

"True." Peter closed the trunk and smiled. "You did good down there."

"Thanks."

"I'll see you Monday morning."

Neal hesitated a moment. "Uh, Peter?" He pointed down at his ankle. "I think you're forgetting something."

Peter sighed and nodded. "You're right." He opened the trunk again, rummaging in his bag until he found the tracker. Then he slowly inserted the electronic key and opened the band.

"I didn't let you down," Neal said softly, holding out his hand.

"No, you didn't," Peter agreed. "I think you almost burned the hotel down with the heat of that dance, but…"

Neal laughed. "That wasn't part of the conditions you set."

"True." He handed the tracker over, watching as Neal knelt down and fastened the band around his ankle.

"Yup, definitely home again," Neal said. He straightened his pants leg over the anklet and stood up. He held out his hand. "Peter, thank you."

Peter took his hand, gripping it tightly for a moment. "You know, you only have a little over two years to go. I hope this week showed you that you have a lot to offer."

"Maybe I could be a dance instructor," Neal said, grinning. "Hey, I could teach you the steps to the lambada. You and Elizabeth could…"

Peter just laughed. "Yeah, El will tell you I struggle with the most basic waltz." He closed the trunk again and then started for the driver's door. "Speaking of my wife, I need to get home."

He got into the car, started the engine, and pulled out into the street. He could see Neal in the rearview mirror, still standing by the street. Then he turned the corner, and set his attention on his destination.

Miami had been nice, but there was nothing like getting home to El…