A/N: If you're a Law & Order SVU fan you may recognize some characters in this story. But really, it's not necessary to know that show – they're simply the cops who move the story along. It was just easier to use the SVU detectives instead of making up new names :-)

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Neal groaned as the sound intruded on his sleep.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! "Open up! Police!"

OK, that got him moving. Police? He hadn't even been out of his radius for weeks, so what… "Yeah, coming," he called, pulling on his robe. A quick glance at the alarm clock showed it was a few minutes before 10:00 – barely an hour since Peter had dropped him off.

He opened the door to find a man and a woman standing there.

"Neal Caffrey?" the man asked.

"Yes."

"Detective Stabler," the man said, flashing a badge. "This is detective Benson. Mind if we come in?"

Yeah, like that was really a question… He stepped back and let them in. "What's this about?"

"We'll ask the questions," the woman – Benson – replied.

Neal just nodded, studying the two detectives. Benson looked to be all business, with shoulder length reddish brown hair and a short leather jacket. At a guess, he'd peg her as early forties. Stabler, also all business, was balding, muscular, maybe a few years older. He hadn't given in to the cooling autumn weather yet, wearing just an open sport coat.

He watched them look around the apartment, obviously professional in the way they seemed to be checking everything. Trying not to appear worried, he tied the belt on his robe while he waited, as instructed, for a question.

"You're alone here?"

"Yes, I'm alone."

"Sleeping in a little?" Stabler asked.

"I was working all night."

"Would that be running a con, breaking into a museum, or maybe something else?"

"It would be something else," Neal said, trying to keep his voice even. "And not something illegal."

"We'll see about that," Benson, said. "So tell me, how does an ex-con afford a place like this?"

"I have an understanding landlord."

"Uh huh." Stabler had wandered over to the patio doors, looking out onto the balcony. "I don't have a view like this. Do you, Olivia?"

"Not even close," she replied. "You mind if we look around?"

Neal shrugged. "Feel free to look at anything in plain sight. Beyond that, I'd like to see a warrant."

"You got something to hide?" Stabler challenged.

"No, just a preference for privacy." Neal considered his options for a moment before continuing. "Look, if you could just tell me what this is about, we might be able to clear things up pretty easily." Assuming his tracking data hadn't been manipulated again… and assuming nothing had happened near where he really had been…

"Do you know a Melinda Carlisle?"

Whatever he might have been expecting, it wasn't that. "Mindy? Sure. Did something…"

"How do you know her?"

"We've been dating for a few months. Look, is she…"

"So it wouldn't surprise you that we found your fingerprints all over her apartment?"

"No, it wouldn't. I've been there many times."

"And if I told you we matched your DNA to a couple of used condoms there?"

Neal studied the detectives for a moment before answering – their tag team work on the questioning was pretty good. "Also not a surprise," he said slowly. "We were there last night. Look, is Mindy all right?"

"Yeah, we'll talk about that," Stabler said. "Down at the precinct."

"Am I under arrest?"

"Not yet," Benson said. "But if you prefer not to cooperate…"

"I didn't say I wouldn't cooperate," Neal said. "Really though, if you would just tell me what happened, maybe we could clear this up." Should he tell them about the tracker, or call Peter…

"Down at the precinct," Stabler repeated.

"Fine. Is it all right if I get dressed?"

"Sure."

Neal started for the dresser, only to be stopped by Benson's hand on his arm. Her other hand rested on the butt of her gun. "Top drawer," he said. "I need underwear. And a pair of socks from the second drawer." She nodded, and he carefully extracted the items under close watch.

Stabler was waiting by the wardrobe when Neal got there. The detective watched carefully as he selected the clothing – black pants, a black turtleneck, and a charcoal gray jacket. He laid the jacket on the couch and pointed across the room. "Bathroom."

"I'll come with you," Stabler said, clapping him on the shoulder as Neal winced.

The detective made it sound so friendly…

Neal walked into the bathroom, tailed by his shadow, and laid his clothes over a drying rack. "Now what?"

"Any weapons in here?"

"No. Not even razor blades." Neal pointed over toward the sink. "I prefer an electric razor."

Stabler nodded and then pointed at the shower. With a sigh Neal reached over and pulled the curtain back, displaying the empty interior.

"Now can I get dressed?"

"Sure. But maybe I'll just make sure you don't have any bruises, or scratches."

"Look, is Mindy…"

Stabler cut him off. "We'll talk at the precinct."

Neal considered his options – which didn't take long. Ex-cons didn't seem to have many when it came to dealing with the police… "All right, you want bruises," he said, untying his robe and letting it slide off his shoulders to the floor. "There's this one," he continued, pointing at a large yellowing spot on the back of his right shoulder. "Right where you hit me a minute ago. And this one," he added, sliding the waistband of his pajama bottoms down over his hip just far enough to show a similar bruise there.

"What, about a week old?" Stabler guessed.

"Six days." And since he knew Mindy was fine then, no reason to be less than forthcoming that the bruises existed. Now how he acquired them was a different matter… And at least he knew now that they were investigating something current, otherwise bruises wouldn't be a factor.

"Get dressed," the detective ordered, turning for the door. "And don't take forever."

"Anything?" Benson asked as her partner came back into the main room.

"A couple of bruises that look too old to be part of this. We'll have Warner check."

"No scratches?"

"Not above the waist. I think that's all we get without a warrant."

"Nothing in plain sight to help with that. So, what do you think?"

Stabler shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, he's an ex-con, but nothing violent in his record."

"Always a first time."

He nodded. "You like him for it?"

Olivia considered that for a moment. "No physical evidence yet to the crime scene, just to the apartment. I guess we'll know more when the analysis from the rape kit comes back."

Just then Neal came out of the bathroom, now dressed. "I don't suppose you solved the case while I was gone," he said, walking between the detectives to toss the pajama pants and robe on his bed.

"I think we have a pretty good idea," Stabler replied.

"Not if you're still looking at me for it," Neal said. He put his shoes on and then his jacket. Finally, he stopped at the counter, picking up his wallet, phone, and keys. The FBI consultant ID was the last thing he added to his pockets. "All right, let's get this over with."

June met them at the bottom of the stairs. "Neal, is everything all right? When they came to the door…"

"Everything's fine, June. Whatever it is, they've got the wrong guy. It'll get straightened out."

"Do you want me to call Peter?"

Did he? He didn't even know what this was about yet. Peter might be able to expedite that information… "No, thanks. I'll call him later if it's necessary."

She laid a hand on his forearm. "Well, you call me if you need to."

"Thanks, June."

He led the way outside and then stepped aside to let Benson lead the way to their car. She got in the driver's side while Stabler opened the back door and waited until he got in before closing it.

Seeing the inside of the door, with the missing handle – no way out from the inside – gave him momentary pause. But he hadn't done anything… and certainly nothing to Mindy!

"So who's Peter?" Stabler asked as he got into the front seat.

"He's my partner."

"Another con man and thief?"

"Not exactly." And really, maybe he should just tell them about the tracking anklet and the FBI… but he needed to know what had happened to Mindy…

Benson started the car and pulled away. Now that they were heading back to their precinct the detectives seemed willing to wait to ask any more questions, and the drive was mostly made in silence.

Part-way there, Neal felt the electrical jolt against his ankle that meant he was now outside his assigned radius. Wonderful little 'enhancement' in this newest incarnation of the tracker.

And he guessed Peter would be finding out that something was going on at any time now…

The ringing was incessant, and Peter groaned as he reached for the phone. His eye caught the alarm clock at the same time – he'd been in bed for less than an hour!

"Burke. Yeah, what… He what? So where is he now? A police station? All right, thanks. No, I'll take care of it."

Neal, what the hell…

The interrogation room was sparsely furnished, just a table and a couple of chairs. The décor consisted of a New York City map tacked to one wall… and a mirror.

Actually a window from the other side, he knew. And he wondered who was watching.

The detectives had had him empty his pockets when they arrived – even though, as they hastened to point out, he still wasn't under arrest. And, granted, he hadn't been handcuffed, so he guessed the non-arrest part was right. But empty pockets apparently would make him less distracted while they talked.

Except he'd been led into the room, and left alone. He'd heard the door lock when they left. Not that the lock itself would be a problem – but being in the middle of a police precinct might offer an obstacle or two to leaving. He wasn't sure how long it had been, since his watch was in the envelope with his other personal items. Best guess, though, was maybe twenty minutes.

Sure, get him in a locked room, make him sweat…

Well, he could play games too. In fact, he was quite good at them. And so he sat quietly, leaning back in the chair, acting as though he hadn't a care in the world.

Which he didn't, because this was apparently about Mindy, and he certainly hadn't done anything to hurt her. He desperately wanted to know what had happened to her, but he couldn't show that desperation.

And so he sat, not even tapping his fingers.

It had to be driving them crazy…

"He's a cool customer," Stabler observed. "I'll give him that."

Benson nodded. "But is it because he's innocent, or because he's a con artist?"

"Warner said she was on her way up, so we'll see what she has."

As if on cue the door to the observation room opened and the medical examiner, Melinda Warner, walked in, reports in hand. "That's the suspect?" she asked, looking through the window,

"Neal Caffrey," Benson supplied. "We matched his fingerprints from the apartment."

"Well, the DNA analysis is still pending, but the blood from under your victim's nails does not match the blood type on his record."

"He admitted to the condoms in the apartment. What about the semen at the scene?" Benson asked.

Warner shook her head. "No blood type – apparently the donor is not a secretor. And DNA isn't done."

"He's got some bruises," Stabler said. "He says six days, and they don't look fresh. Maybe you could take a look while you're here."

Neal looked up as the door opened. It was Stabler again, but the woman with him this time was not Benson.

Stabler closed the door behind them. "This is Dr. Warner. I'd like her to take a look at those bruises."

Neal studied the detective for a moment, considering his answer. "Are you investigating something from six days ago?"

The detective didn't answer for a moment, apparently considering his own reply. "No," he finally said. "More recent."

Neal sighed and nodded. "How big is the audience?" he asked, pointing at the mirror as he stood up.

"Just my partner."

Neal's jacket was already draped over the back of the chair, so he simply pulled off the turtleneck and turned around. He heard footsteps coming closer, the sound of a glove being pulled on, and then he felt the gentle touch of fingertips.

"There was a second bruise?"

He took a deep breath, set his jaw, and unfastened his pants, letting them fall down over his hips to pool at his ankles. And then he hitched the waistband of his boxers down just enough to show the bruise on his hip.

At least this time she wasn't touching…

"Six days would be about right," Warner said.

"OK, thanks," Stabler said. "Let me know if the other results come in."

Neal heard the door open as he reached down to pull his pants up again. By the time he fastened them and turned around, Benson had entered the room and the door was closing again.

"Look, I've done everything you asked," he started, shrugging back into his shirt. "You said you'd tell me what you were investigating when we got here."

"A few more questions first," Benson said. "Sit down."

The lack of answers was getting frustrating, and for a moment he considered insisting on standing. No, he needed to pick his battles, so he sat.

"You said you saw Melinda Carlisle last night," Stabler started.

"That's right."

"Tell us about the night."

"I met Mindy downtown about 6:00 last night," Neal began. "We went to dinner – Scaletta's, on Columbus."

"What time did you leave?"

"Somewhere around 8:00 I think." Neal pointed at the evidence bag that Benson had brought in. "Give me my wallet and I can show you the credit card I used to pay for dinner. You can see what time it was run. We left just a few minutes later."

Benson opened the bag and extracted the wallet, sliding it toward him. Neal picked out the card and laid it out before continuing. "After that we walked through the park. Got some ice cream from one of the carts. Then we picked up a cab on the other side of the park and went to her apartment."

He paused, looking over as the door opened and another detective stepped in – older, tall and thin, glasses. He took the credit card and stepped back out.

Apparently the audience had increased.

"What time did you get there?" Stabler asked.

"It must have been close to 9:30. It's a secured building, with video surveillance. You should be able to find out."

"And then you had sex."

"We made love," Neal corrected. "There is a difference."

"Twice."

"Yes."

"Then what?"

"I left around 11:00 – I had to be somewhere. Mindy was in bed, very much alive and well and unharmed, by the way. She had to be at the airport early this morning to work a flight, so she was going to try and get a few hours of sleep."

"And what did you do?"

"I went home, changed, and went to work."

"Doing what, exactly, at midnight?"

"Surveillance."

"What, the target of your next heist?"

"No." Neal paused, looking at both of them. "Look, you've asked me a lot of questions. I think I have the right to know what happened."

Benson seemed to consider that for a moment and then she opened a folder. "Recognize her?" she asked, sliding a photo over.

It was Mindy – and it was worse than he had even imagined. She was covered in blood, battered…

"There's more," Benson said, laying more photos out on the table.

He almost couldn't look, and yet he had to. The bitter taste of bile rose in his throat and he swallowed, hard. "Is she… is she all right?"

"Maybe you could tell us…" Benson started.

"No!" Neal pushed the photos away and stared right at her. "I have done everything you asked, but I am not answering any more questions until you answer mine. Is she all right?"

"In the hospital, still unconscious at last update," Stabler said.

"What happened?"

Peter walked into the squad room, flashing his badge to the first detective he saw. "I'm looking for Captain Cragen."

"John Munch. I'll take you to him."

He was directed to an office where an older, balding man sat working on paperwork at a desk. Munch reached in and knocked on the open door as Peter stepped in.

"Peter Burke, FBI."

"Don Cragen," the other man said, standing up. "What can I help the Bureau with?"

"I'm looking for my partner, Neal Caffrey."

"Caffrey?"

"The Carlisle case," Munch supplied. "Elliott and Olivia are talking to him now."

"Did he identify as an agent?" Cragen asked.

"He's not exactly an agent," Peter said, sighing.

Neal was looking at the photos again, and he pointed at one of them. "This is the alley behind Mindy's building," he said. "Near where she parks."

Stabler nodded. "That's right."

"When?"

"Neighbors called in a disturbance about 4:30 this morning."

Neal sighed and shook his head slowly. "If you would have just told me this in the first place, we could have cleared this up a long time ago – and you could be spending your time looking for whoever really did this."

"So I guess you've got an alibi," Benson said.

"A pretty good one. Let's start with this," Neal said, shifting in his seat so that he could put his left leg up on the table. He pulled his pant leg back to reveal the red flashing light on his tracker. "I assume you have a contact with the US Marshals – have them pull data for 9305-A. It'll show that I left her apartment late last night, and did not go back."

Olivia jotted the number down and stood up. "I'll get Fin to run this."

Neal watched her leave the room and then turned to Stabler as he put his foot back down on the floor. "Look, can I have my phone? I'd like to make a call."

"You want to call a lawyer?"

"No, my alibi," Neal replied. He reached slowly for the evidence envelope, and the detective made no move to stop him. First, he opened up the case with his FBI ID. "I'm a consultant for the FBI," he said. "I told you I was doing surveillance. I was in a van with an FBI agent all night."

Stabler was looking at the ID. "Consultant? What does that mean?"

"It means I'm a convicted felon, which you already know," Neal said, as Benson came back in. She laid his credit card back on the table and then sat down as he continued. "I'm serving out the rest of my sentence helping the white collar unit."

"But you were doing surveillance?" Stabler pressed. "On what?"

"I… can't tell you that," Neal said slowly.

"As a convicted felon you should know it's in your best interest to cooperate," Benson warned.

"It's not that I don't want to," Neal said. "I just really can't. If you let me call my partner…" He paused, looking down. His pant leg had caught on the tracker and he could still see the red light flashing. "I'm actually kind of surprised he isn't here already."

"What does he mean he can't answer?" Cragen asked.

"He's following my orders," Peter answered. "We're investigating the theft of some art pieces that were in transit to a gallery. There's more than a little evidence to suggest that there was police involvement in the theft. My boss ordered me to keep this strictly inside my team." His phone rang and he looked down at the ID – Neal. "I should probably take this," he said. "Yes, Neal."

"Peter, did the Marshals call you?"

"Yes, they did. They seem to think you're on the run."

"I was not running, Peter. It wasn't my idea."

"Yeah, Neal, I know."

"You know? Peter, where are you?"

"On the other side of the mirror." He smiled as he watched Neal stare in that direction.

"How long…"

"Just sit tight, Neal. I'll be in shortly." He hung up and turned back to Cragen. "The detectives who caught this case. You vouch for them?"

"Elliott Stabler and Olivia Benson," Cragen supplied. "And they may bend some rules here and there, or make up their own rules from time to time. But I'd stake my life that they're clean."

"All right. Let's go in there. I only want to do this once."

Neal looked up as the door opened, and the relief was evident on his face when Peter walked in. The agent was followed by an older, balding man. Must be the detective in charge, Neal guessed. It made sense that Peter would seek the highest authority. In the end he finally just said, "Peter;" the one word carried a good deal of meaning.

"Neal." Peter looked at the older detective. "This is Captain Cragen."

Neal didn't really care – he just wanted out of there. But, again, being an ex-con in a police interrogation room dictated that he should be careful. So he nodded in recognition – a quick, very brief nod before turning his attention back to the photos on the table and pushing a few toward his partner. "Peter, they think I did this to Mindy."

Peter took a quick look at the photos, swallowed hard, and shook his head. "I can confirm that Neal was with me from just before midnight until after 8:30 this morning."

"You're sure, the whole night," Benson pressed.

"Well, we were parked about half a block from a convenience store, and with only two of us, we had to take turns going for coffee and using the facilities," Peter replied, finishing with a little smile. "I'm sure you know how that goes on a stakeout."

Stabler nodded with a small smile of his own. "What goes in must come out."

"Exactly." Peter stepped over to the map on the wall, studying it a moment. "Our surveillance was here," he said, pointing to a spot on the northern side of the city. "Mindy's apartment is roughly here," he added, pointing to a spot well south. "At most, Neal and I were separated five, ten minutes at a time. No way he could have gotten through the city, done the deed, cleaned up, and gotten back. And when you get that tracking data back it will confirm what I just told you."

"Assuming he gave us the right number," Benson said.

Neal looked a little affronted, but Peter supplied the answer. "He did," he said firmly.

Stabler looked intrigued by the whole thing. "So what about this couldn't you tell us?"

Peter took that question too. "That was on my orders – actually, orders my boss gave to keep the details of our current case strictly within my team. We're looking into the theft of some art in transit to a gallery, and there is evidence – strong circumstantial evidence – that some members of the NYPD might be involved."

"Yeah, that's the part I didn't think would work well coming from me," Neal added softly.

"When did this happen?" Cragen asked.

"Six days ago," Peter replied.

Stabler was staring at Neal again. "So those bruises that you said were six days old…"

Neal looked over at Peter, and the agent nodded and answered. "Right after the theft was reported, we followed a lead down by the docks. Neal pushed me out of the way of a bullet and we both went down hard against some steps. I know we have twin shoulder bruises, and I'm guessing he probably has another one below the waist, like I do."

"So I'm not sure I understand this," Cragen said. He looked at Neal. "Do you carry a gun?"

Neal shook his head. "No."

Cragen turned back to Peter. "But he's your only back-up on this?"

Peter shrugged. "There are four people on my team, so we do two teams on the surveillance – eight hours on, eight hours off. My other two agents take one shift, Neal and I take the other. And gun or not, I know he has my back."

Neal managed not to smile at those words – might not go over well in the current situation – but he couldn't deny the warm feeling that Peter's confidence gave him.

The door opened just then and Fin stepped in. "The tracking data from the marshals," he said, laying a printout on the table. "Confirms that the tracker was over seven miles away from the crime scene all night. And in other news, Mercy called. Melinda Carlisle is still unconscious."

Neal looked up at his partner. "Peter…"

"Do you still consider Neal a suspect in this?" Peter asked.

Benson looked over at her partner, who gave a minute shake of his head, before she replied with one word. "No."

"Then is there any reason he can't go to the hospital?" Peter continued.

"None that I know of," Stabler replied. "Hearing a familiar voice might help her wake up."

"Then I'll take you over to the hospital when we're done here," Peter promised.

"You'll need to sign for your personal property," Benson said.

Fin headed toward the door. "I'll get the paperwork."

Neal stood up and put his jacket on, and then started to replace his personal items in his pockets. "There's something you should have asked me," he said, weighing his words carefully.

"What would that be?" Stabler asked.

"Whether I knew anyone who might want to hurt Mindy." Neal looked over at Peter. "Do you remember that scar on her arm?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah, I do."

"Well, she has more scars – a lot more. She had gotten out of an abusive relationship. All I know is a first name – Mark. She didn't want to talk about it, and she seemed really sure that he was out of the picture, so I didn't press it."

"We can interview some neighbors, see if anyone knows about this guy," Benson said.

Neal nodded and then pointed at the notebook in front of her. "May I?" She nodded and he pulled it toward him with his right hand, keying the contact list on his phone with his left. "Kyle Redtke," he said, writing down a name and a phone number. "He's probably Mindy's closest friend. They've worked on the same flight crew for a long time. I would bet he knows Mark's last name." He paused, shrugged. "He certainly knew everything about me before we met the first time." He looked at one more thing on his phone. "I have three voicemails, two text messages, and an e-mail waiting from him – probably trying to figure out why she didn't show up for this morning's flight."

Olivia nodded. "We'll give him a call."

"I think today's flight was Cleveland, St. Louis, and then back again," Neal added. "Maybe you can catch him in between segments."

Fin came back in and set a form on the table. Neal checked off his personal property items and then signed the paper. Just as he finished he winced slightly and looked over at his partner. "Peter, do you think you could call the marshals? This thing keeps zapping me every few minutes."

"Ahhhh, sorry, I forgot about that little innovation." Peter looked at his cell phone and sighed. "I also forgot to put my phone on the charger, and that call from you pretty much tapped the battery. I'll call when we get in the car."

Neal nodded and looked at the detectives. "Am I done here?"

Stabler nodded. "Yeah, I think so. We might have some more questions…"

Neal reached over and tapped the tracking printouts on the table. "I won't be hard to find."

She looked so… fragile.

That was Neal's first thought as he walked into the hospital room. Fragile, and unnaturally still.

Mindy was almost never still. She had an energy, a vibrancy – a combination that made him smile.

But now she lay swaddled under layers of bandages, tethered to machines that beeped and buzzed. The parts of her face that he could see were bruised and swollen.

He slumped into a chair by the bed, his hand reaching for hers, brushing her fingers in one of the few places not covered by bandages or wires. "Who does things like this?" he whispered.

Peter shook his head slowly, his face paler than normal. "I don't know."

"I know I've broken some laws…"

"Not condoning anything you did, Neal. But believe me, I'll take a forged painting over something like this any day."

"Peter, they really thought I did this."

"They don't think so now. Neal…"

"I know. But, my fingerprints all over the apartment, criminal record – perfect suspect." Neal sighed and looked up at Peter. "I'm sorry you had to get called out. They wouldn't tell me what they were investigating, and I didn't have a whole lot of choice but to just go along."

"Don't worry about it." Peter paused, looking at his watch. "I'm going to head home and try for a few hours of sleep. Want me to drop you off?"

"Would it be all right if I stayed? I know it's out of my radius…"

"I need you to back me up at 4:00."

"I'll be there."

"All right. Call me if anything changes."

"It just never stops," Olivia said, closing her notebook as they stepped out of the examination room.

"No, it doesn't," Stabler agreed. "Look, while we're here, let's stop upstairs and see if there's an update on Melinda Carlisle."

"Good idea."

The elevator deposited them on the fourth floor, and the room they were looking for was just across from the nurses' station. No one was at the desk at the moment so they went to the room, pausing just outside.

"Caffrey," Benson said quietly.

He was sprawled on the chair, his hand wrapped around one of Mindy's. The angle of his neck as he slept looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"He's been there like that since before noon," a nurse said, coming up behind them.

Olivia pulled out her badge. "No change in her condition?"

The nurse shook her head. "No. Dr. Wickson said Miss Carlisle's vital signs look good, but she hasn't regained consciousness. But just a moment, I think the doctor left something at the desk for you."

Just then there was a beeping sound, and they watched as Neal stirred, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone and turning off the alarm. He sat up straight, running his hands through his hair, and then he stood up, stretching out the kinks as he walked into the bathroom and shut the door. A couple of minutes later the door opened again and they watched as Caffrey walked out, wiping his face with a paper towel.

That was when he looked up and saw the detectives in the hallway.

The nurse was back, handing over an envelope. "Dr. Wickson's report. She said you wanted a copy."

"Yeah, thanks," Olivia said, taking the report. She turned her attention back to the room, watching with her partner as Caffrey stopped and leaned over the bed, kissing Melinda Carlisle gently on the forehead. Then he grabbed his jacket from the chair and walked out.

"More questions for me?" Neal asked. He really hadn't counted on seeing them again so soon…

"No, just in the neighborhood," Stabler replied. "Always a new victim."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Neal said as he headed for the elevator, the detectives falling in beside him.

"She never woke up?" Olivia asked as they waited.

Neal shook his head. "No. Well, I was asleep part of the time, but she never woke up enough so anyone noticed anyway. But the doctor said it wasn't that unusual with the injuries she had."

Stabler's eyebrows raised in surprise. "I'm kind of amazed the doctor talked to you. We usually have to go through hoops to get past doctor-patient privilege."

"I think Peter might have pulled a couple of strings there," Neal admitted as the elevator doors opened and they got in. "Did you reach Kyle?"

"Yeah, we did." Olivia pulled out her notebook. "Marcus Bollander. Name ring any bells?"

Neal shook his head. "No. Like I said, she didn't want to talk about it." He sighed. "I should have pushed…"

"Pretty common, actually," Stabler said. "People don't want to talk about things like that."

"And they tend to think it's all behind them," Benson added.

"Have you found him?" Neal asked.

Benson shook her head. "He called in sick to work, and he wasn't at home. Munch and Fin are trying to track him down."

The elevator doors opened on the ground floor and they walked out, heading for the exit. "Did you find anything to tie him to the crime scene?" Neal asked.

"No match on the preliminary DNA results, but Bollander isn't in the system."

"So all you got was the condom match."

"We told you we had that this morning."

"No." Neal shook his head as he opened the door and held it. "DNA testing isn't that fast. You said what 'if' you told me the DNA matched."

Stabler smiled at the catch. "You admitted to it."

"Sure, because I knew it would match," Neal replied. "Denying it didn't seem to get me anything. And like I said, I knew Mindy was fine when I left her."

"The secure knowledge of the innocent," Stabler said.

"Something like that." He managed to suppress a smile, thinking about what Peter usually had to say any time Neal's name and the concept of 'innocent' came up in the same sentence.

The detectives started for their car parked right in front as Neal looked down the sidewalk and then pulled out his phone, scowling.

"Something wrong?" Benson asked.

Neal shook his head. "Sometimes there are cabs waiting, but not now. So not wrong, just inconvenient."

Stabler looked at his watch. "You're back on stakeout duty at 4:00?"

"Yeah – eight on, eight off."

The detectives exchanged a glance and a nod, and then Stabler opened the back door. "Come on, we'll give you a ride."

Neal's eyes fell on the handle-less door, and he hesitated.

"We'll open the door when we get there," Stabler said, grinning. "I promise." He was driving this time and he headed to the other side of the car.

Neal smiled. "Well, as long as you promise," he said, sliding onto the seat.

"So how much sleep did you get?" Benson asked as she pulled her seatbelt on.

"I don't know, a couple of hours."

"Not much to start a stakeout on."

"I guess the Patils will sell more candy bars and coffee tonight," Neal admitted. "They own that convenience store Peter mentioned."

Stabler pulled out into traffic and looked in the rearview mirror. "And you really think there are cops involved in this?"

Maybe not being able to get out on his own wasn't such a good idea… "There were last minute changes to the transit route and to the escort personnel," he replied. "And the bullets fired at Peter and me down at the docks matched police issue." And there was more…

"The ammo isn't conclusive," Benson pointed out. "There are ways to get it."

"Yeah," Neal agreed. "Look, I'm not sure how much I can say. If you want to talk to Peter…"

"I guess we'll hear soon enough if something goes down," Stabler said. "So how long have you been doing this consultant thing?"

"Almost two years now…"

He had them drop him off a couple of blocks away from the van – even though it was unmarked, the car seemed to scream 'police' and there was no sense advertising that in case the suspects were in the area. It was five minutes to four when he slipped into the van.

Peter was just hanging his jacket over a chair. "Any news on Mindy?"

Neal shook his head. "She's still unconscious. But the doctor said her vital signs look good, so it should just be a matter of time."

Diana reached over and touched his arm. "Neal, I'm so sorry to hear about Mindy."

"Thanks."

"Anything we can do?" Jones asked.

"Well, the police have a name on her former boyfriend," Neal replied. "I know it's not a Bureau case, but do you think we can run his name, see what we can find?" If not, he'd have to enlist Mozzie…

"I think we can make an exception this once," Peter said. "What's the name?"

"Marcus Bollander."

Jones typed the name in and started searching while Diana briefed the other two men.

"We've had nothing going on all day," she said. "The most excitement was when a pigeon pooped on the roof camera."

"Yeah, it's pretty gross up there," Jones said with a shudder.

"He lost the coin toss on who had to go up and clean it off," Diana explained.

"Well, seems to be looking good now," Peter said, checking the monitors.

"It better," Jones grumbled. "Took me twenty minutes to scrub the bird poop off my clothes."

"That's probably a visual I didn't need," Neal said.

"Yeah, well, I didn't need the experience!" Jones got up, pointing at the computer screen. "I've got the info on Bollander up. Doesn't look like there's much there."

Peter slid his chair over. "I'll take a look at it while Neal watches the monitors."

Diana pulled her jacket on. "Do you want me to stop at the hospital?"

Neal fought back the urge to say yes. "You need your sleep," he managed to say. "The detectives promised they'd let me know if there were any changes."

"All right. See you guys at midnight then." She exited the van, followed by Jones.

Peter pulled the door shut and turned back to Neal. "Stabler and Benson? When did you see them?"

"They were at the hospital on another case," Neal explained. "And they stopped up to check on Mindy's condition. They even gave me a ride up here."

"So you've forgiven them for considering you a suspect?"

"It's not a question of forgiveness, Peter. I mean, I understand, they had an ex-con's fingerprints all over the victim's apartment. But I'll bet that if I had just been the boyfriend, without the ex-con part, they would have told me what was going on and asked about an alibi without dragging me down to the station."

"Yeah, maybe," Peter conceded. "Why didn't you just tell them about the tracking data?"

Neal answered with a shrug. "I didn't know what they were looking for. And… volunteering information to the police may not be my first instinct."

"Always something to work on," Peter said, smiling. Then he pointed at the monitors. "All right, eyes on the screens. Let me see what we can find out about this Bollander guy."

The eight hours passed quietly, if not quickly. There were a few extra trips to the convenience store for coffee and candy – and as an excuse to get some air.

The FBI search on Bollander didn't turn up anything definitive, but his name did show up as a witness who was interviewed in connection with a possible drug operation at a seedy strip club called Lady Fine. Mozzie would check it out, see if Bollander still frequented the place.

Diana and Jones showed up for the midnight shift, and Peter drove Neal home. Trying to get into the hospital at that time of night would have been a bit obvious, so Neal opted for a few hours of sleep – and stopped at the hospital early the next morning. Peter had casually mentioned that he'd leave the monitoring off of the tracker for the time being.

Mindy was still unconscious, but to Neal's eye, anyway, she seemed to be resting more comfortably.

The day shift was, again, quiet. Neal had barely gotten home, and was just slipping into bed when Mozzie called to report that Bollander had shown up at the Lady Fine.

The Special Victims Unit received an anonymous tip a few minutes later.

The midnight surveillance shift finally paid off on the art heist case.

And Mindy woke up.

"Will you be here when I get back?"

Neal held her hand lightly, bringing it to his lips. "I think they're going to make me go home for a while," he said. "But I promise I'll be back later."

She nodded, though it was obvious that even that small movement caused pain.

"All right, Mindy, we're moving you now," one of the nurses said.

They started to roll the bed, and Neal reluctantly let go of her fingers, watching as they disappeared down the hall.

And then, free of the need to pretend any longer, he allowed himself to feel his own injuries. Gripping the IV pole for support, he took a couple of stiff steps back and then dropped into a chair.

Okay, so maybe the takedown in the art heist case hadn't gone as smoothly as might have been planned or desired…

He leaned back in the chair, ruing the fact that it wasn't a big, plush recliner. Losing himself in a chair like that, and just not moving for a long time, seemed like it would be a good idea right about then.

From his little emergency room experience, he knew he had a couple of cracked ribs, a black eye, a slight concussion, numerous bruises and scrapes, and a painful wound on his right side from where a bullet had creased him as he wrestled with the gun's owner.

Okay, maybe he should have stayed in the van like he'd been told. But the assault team hadn't known about the two latecomers, and Peter wasn't answering on the radio…

So now he was here, wearing paper slippers, a hospital gown, and a too-short robe designed to cover the gaping opening in the back of the gown. He had an IV running into his arm, and the painkillers were starting to make him woozy.

Maybe if he just closed his eyes…

"What the hell happened to you?"

So much for resting… Neal opened his eyes, and then sat up a little straighter as Stabler and Benson walked into the room. "Detectives," he greeted wearily. "We might have resolved the art heist case overnight."

"So do the other guys look worse?" Benson asked.

"I'm not sure about that," Neal admitted. "But they all left the scene in handcuffs, so that's something."

"And were they cops?" Stabler asked.

Neal hesitated a moment before answering. "Three of them were," he finally said.

Benson sighed. "Makes it that much harder for the rest of us."

If there was an appropriate reply to that, the drugs were making Neal too tired to figure it out.

Stabler stepped into the silence. "They said Mindy woke up."

"Yeah." Neal shook the IV pole. "I figured this could drip up here as well as down in the ER, so I came to see her. And she opened her eyes, she was talking."

"That's great."

"You just missed her. They took her down for some x-rays and a CAT scan."

"We'll hang around for a bit, see if we can talk to her," Benson said. "By the way, we picked up Marcus Bollander."

"Yeah, seems someone called in an anonymous tip about where he was," Stabler added.

Neal kept his expression carefully neutral. "I guess it's good when the citizenry works with the police."

"Very good," Benson agreed.

"So, did he do it?" Neal asked softly.

"He's got some fresh scratches, and his fingerprints match the scene," Stabler replied. "DNA's not back yet – the testing takes a little longer, you know."

Neal allowed himself a small smile at that statement. "I've heard that."

Benson stepped over, turning the IV bag so she could read the label. "So how bad did you get it?"

"Cracked ribs, concussion, cuts and bruises – nothing that will kill me, just hurt for a while." He looked up, noticing that the IV had run dry, and started to remove the tape holding the needle to his arm.

Stabler looked a little skeptical. "You sure you should be doing that? Maybe you should go back to the ER."

Neal shook his head. "They'll just stick me back in bed. The doctor already said she'll discharge me. Peter went to my place to pick up some clothes."

"They know you're up here?"

Neal opted not to answer that one directly. "Peter will find me. He always does." He slid the needle out of his arm and used the tape to press down on the spot to stop any bleeding.

"Even without the GPS?" Benson asked, pointing down. "You seem to have lost something."

His left ankle did look strangely bare, even though it was heavily bandaged… "They cut the tracker off downstairs when they brought me in," Neal said. "Peter will probably have a new one with him when he gets here."

Almost as if on cue, a shadow appeared in the doorway – and said shadow soon materialized into the form of an annoyed FBI agent.

"You know there's a whole manhunt going on downstairs," Peter said as he walked in. "It seems a patient has gone missing, and they can't figure out how he disappeared."

Neal just shrugged wearily. "I've walked out of maximum security, Peter. The emergency room wasn't really much of a challenge."

"Yeah, I can see how this would be something of a comedown," Peter replied. He held out a small duffel bag. "Get dressed, and we'll see about getting you discharged."

Neal slowly pushed himself out of the chair – and might have fallen if Benson hadn't been quick to put out a hand when he wobbled. "Thanks," he whispered, managing to straighten up. Moving carefully he took the bag and headed across the room. "Hey, Mindy woke up."

Peter breathed a sigh of relief. "That's really good news."

Neal just nodded and disappeared into the bathroom.

Stabler watched as the door closed and then turned to Peter. "He walked out of maximum security?"

Peter smiled and nodded. "Oh yeah, with about three months left on a four year sentence. His girlfriend said adios, and barely a month later he walked out the front door. It's a good thing he went looking for Kate instead of really running, because that's the way I found him again."

"So did he find the girl?"

"Yeah, finally, after he started working for me," Peter replied. "And then she was killed, in an explosion that was most likely intended to kill him."

"Colorful life," Benson remarked.

Peter laughed. "Oh, you have no idea. If you have a couple of hours sometime, the Neal Caffrey saga is quite fascinating."

"But the whole thing with him and Melinda Carlisle just seems so… normal."

"It's the first time since Kate died that he's dared try a relationship," Peter said softly. "And she's been really good for him."

"So you know her too?"

Peter nodded. "Neal normally has a two mile radius from his apartment when he's not working. Mindy lives outside of that area, so when Neal asked about an extension I told him I had to meet her." He paused, smiled. "Now, they're at my house for dinner with my wife and me at least once a week. I really like her."

"And the whole partner thing is really working out?" Stabler asked.

"The New York White Collar unit has the highest case closure rate in the country, and a ninety three percent conviction rate. I'd like to think I have something to do with that," Peter replied. "But there's no question Neal brings the average up. So yeah, it's working."

"I don't suppose the FBI happened to look into Marcus Bollander," Benson said.

"We might have run the name," Peter admitted. "All that came up was a mention as a witness in a drug investigation at a strip club."

Stabler grinned. "Well, someone found him at a strip club, and called in a tip. Don't suppose you'd know anything about that?"

Peter matched the grin. "Well, I can tell you Neal wasn't at the club, but I can make a guess as to who might have been. I'm really impressed that he called it in though. With Kate, he tended to try and handle things himself, and that didn't always work out so well."

"Part of that two hour overview?" Benson guessed.

"Could be," Peter agreed with a small laugh. "Seriously, I can't tell you it's all been a bed of roses. Staying on the right side of the law is not necessarily Neal's natural instinct. But, he's trying."

"So is that from the take-down?" Stabler asked, pointing at Peter's heavily bandaged left hand and forearm.

Peter nodded. "Couple of cracked bones, and a bad strain." He paused, looking over at the still-closed bathroom door. "He could have stayed in the van – was told to stay in the van. But the situation changed, and Neal being Neal… Well, let's just say it could have gotten a lot worse."

"Caffrey said it was bad cops after all," Benson said.

"It happens," Peter replied. "Truth is, if it wasn't for a lot of manipulation involving a crooked FBI agent, a lot of things would be different in my life too. I sure wouldn't have Neal for a partner."

"I may just have to take you up on that two hours," Stabler said, grinning.

The bathroom door opened just then and Neal stepped out. Fully dressed now in khakis and a sweater, some of his usual confidence seemed to be back. "Two hours?"

"I told them the Neal Caffrey story needed more than a few minutes to be truly appreciated," Peter explained.

"Ah." Neal nodded, then scowled. "Only two hours?"

"The digest version." Peter grinned. "You seem to be feeling better."

Neal held the hospital gown out gingerly, clasped only in two fingers. "It's hard to feel confident when your butt is hanging out of one of these."

"Or maybe the pain killers are finally kicking in," Peter suggested.

"That too," Neal agreed.

Peter gestured toward the door. "Well, let's get you discharged so they can stop the manhunt, and we can both get some rest."

Neal started toward the door. "I told Mindy I'd be back later."

"Yeah, no problem. I talked to Hughes and he said our reports could wait until tomorrow."

Neal nodded. "Good." He took another step toward the door, and was stopped by Benson's hand on his arm.

"You know, this is going to be a really difficult period for Mindy," she said. "It's going to take a lot of time, and support, for her to recover."

"I know," Neal replied, absolutely serious now. "And as long as she'll let me, I'll be there for her."

"I guess she picked the right guy this time," Stabler said softly.

Neal cocked an eyebrow, the barest hint of a smile touching his lips. "Even if I am an ex-con?"

Stabler shrugged, letting a small smile touch his face as well. "Just proves there's an exception to every rule." He held out his hand. "No hard feelings, I hope."

Neal accepted the handshake. "You got the guy who did this," he said. "That's what's important."

"Good luck," Benson said, as Neal started again for the door.

He paused just long enough to look back at her. "Thanks," he replied, and then he walked out into the hall.

Peter followed, and was almost out the door when Stabler had one more thing to say. "Two hours, huh?"

Peter grinned. "That's for the digest version. And believe me, it'll go better with alcohol."

Neal's voice came back from somewhere down the hall. "I can still hear you, you know."

Peter and the detectives laughed, and the agent pulled a couple of business cards out, handing them over. "If you want to grab a beer sometime," he said. "And now, I think I better get Neal home while this burst of energy of his lasts."

Neal had reached the elevators and pressed the down button when Peter caught up with him. The doors opened and they stepped inside the car.

Peter looked over at the younger man, who was slumped against the back wall. "A fugitive again," he said, shaking his head. And then, starting to smile, he continued. "And I caught you again!"

Neal groaned and shook his head. "I hardly think this qualifies as a fugitive," he argued. "I never left the hospital."

"You escaped from the ER."

"Is that a prison-worthy offense, or will you just add to the existing sentence?"

"Depends. The ER staff may exact its own form of revenge first. Tie you down to the bed you escaped from maybe."

Neal smiled and slowly shook his head. "Won't happen."

"Oh, why not?"

The smile grew. "Because, Peter, as you so frequently point out, you own me for another two years. You won't let anyone else interfere with that."

"You're right about that," Peter agreed, laughing. "All right, I'll bust ya out."

Neal started to laugh, then stopped and groaned. "Oh, don't make me laugh."

The doors opened in the ER department and Peter stepped out. "Come on, Houdini," he said. "Let's get out of here."