a/n: What is this? Christmas in February? I know, I know, this story should be dead, and it is! However, I decided to grace all my wonderful readers and reviews with one final chapter. Though be warned it's very short, and tells absolutely nothing about what is happening. Yes, I'm evil XD. Seriously, though, this story is forever dead and if anyone wants it, please, take it.

"Excuse me, sir, but are you okay?" A middle-aged security attendant asked with a look at the Caffrey who was plastered with a light sheen of sweat. The room was normal temperature at most, but the con appeared over-heated and down-right off.

"What? Yeah I'm fine," Neal replied dazedly. Mossy internally began to register the situation as bad. First of all, Neal was getting sicker, and unexpectedly fast too. Secondly, if it was discovered that Neal was severely sick, despite being non-contagious, he may be barred from the flight. Thirdly, the instant Peter set out a notice for the former convict, he would be arrested.

From then on the pair made their way through security with a brisk pace, hat tipped forward to hide any unusually facial expressions.

Somehow they made it without a hitch and with perfect timing for the next flight. Sinking into the cheap airport seats, Moz glanced towards the flight board to realize his first mistake of the day. Pittsburgh: Delay.


Peter hated himself right now. He knew Neal was doing what he believed to be right, but the man (it's hard not to consider him a child) was still a first-rate criminal. Reluctantly, Peter dialed the number.

"FBI Agent Jones."

"Hey, Jones. It's Peter."

"What's up, Peter? How's Caffrey? I've been hearing rumors. As much as he manages to bug me throughout the course of a single stake-out, I still hope he's doing well."

"Sorry, Jones, I don't know."

"What do you m- Oh. Should I file a report?"



Tap, tap, tap. Mozzie impatiently waited for a status update on the Pittsburgh flight. What was the deal with that airport, anyhow? The weather isn't that bad. Yet, it was guaranteed at least a ten minute delay.

Neal was leaning back in the next seat over. His hat was tipped forward, but his eyes were still visibly closed. Moz was unsure whether his partner was asleep or not while he thought Just fifteen more minutes. Fifteen minutes and the delay will hopefully be over and we'll be gone before anyone knows.

Unfortunately, fifteen minutes had not yet passed when an airport security guard approached the pair. The figure was far from any measure of authority. His hair was brown and messy, his frame thin and appearingly uncoordinated, the uniform barely met standards. He looked at Mozzie with apathy and stated "You and your friend need to come with me."

Remaining calm Moz replied "Why?"

"I'm not in a position to say."

"Can you tell me who ordered this?"

Praying, the convict received a short reply: FBI. Definitely not the answer he was looking for.

Reluctantly, the duo rose to their feet. Apparently, Neal hadn't been fully asleep, and telepathically they decided to go with it and figure something out later.

Together the group moved at a steady walk towards a small security booth stuck in the corner. There weren't any particularly interesting features about the place. Most passer-bys failed to notice it entirely.

Their impassive escort held open the metal door as they passed through, allowing it to slam close quickly after Neal. The room was small and plain. The only way to describe it would be as a deep white. There was a lack of windows despite the rooms location on the outer wall, and the lights were bright enough to give Neal an intense headache and he momentarily squinted his eyes. A well-dressed figure leaned against the opposite wall.

"Hello Caffrey. Mozzie."


"Hello Peter."