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Chapter Text

He had no idea how long he'd been there - it could have been a week or a month. There was no window to peer out of to see the sun or moon, no clock or watch to tell him the hour, no set routine to follow to know what to do next, when to sleep, what meal to eat. He was pretty sure he wasn't even given three meals a day, if his ever thinning body was any indication.

If he knew when a day passed he didn't think he would mark the walls with lines, even if he had something to mark them with. When he did that in prison, he knew how many more marks it would take until he was free, now he had no idea when he'll be let out of his new prison.

God, he missed the sun on his face, caressing him with warmth and making him feel he was being embraced by a friend. He missed the wind in his hair and fresh air and sounds other than his own raw, raspy voice and the clank of metal-on-metal.

He would talk sometimes, just to make a sound. He would say that Peter was coming, and he was going to make it out of this place, and everything would be better as soon as Peter was here. It was the truth because the alternative was unacceptable. It helped him stay sane, even if talking to oneself sounded like just the opposite.

The manacles on his wrists that connected to a chain and bolted to the wall were like a weight that never stopped reminding him he was completely and utterly trapped. He could reach three of the four walls - of course the one couldn't reach had the door. It wasn't like the tracking anklet he's no longer wearing - the tracking anklet may have restricted his freedom to some extent, but he knew that someone was always watching, that Peter was always watching. It was a safety net that Neal wasn't used to but appreciated more than he thought he would. The cuffs around his wrists now only meant fear and pain and loneliness.

The man that put him in this place would come in at what Neal could only guess as random times to ask him questions he didn't know the answers to and hurt him when he said, again, 'I don't know.' It was the only time he saw someone else, the only time he saw the outside of the room that had become his own private hell. It was just a glimpse before the door was shut and the pain and fear and confusion started again, but he relished that moment, that glimpse of a world outside of the four walls that kept him there. It helped him remember there was something else besides the small room that he'd been imprisoned in, a light at the end of the tunnel.

He didn't relish seeing the man that came in. All he brought was pain and fear and disgusting food that barely kept him alive.

The man would take pictures of Neal after he beat him up and Neal knew that Peter was getting those pictures even though the man never said so, no matter how many times Neal asked. He smiled at first when the pictures were taken, just to tell Peter he was okay, even though he wasn't. But smiling got harder after a while, and he eventually stopped altogether. There wasn't anything to smile about anymore.

Neal tried to stay awake and alert, ready as he could be for another attack, but he also knew he needed to sleep as well. He would try to guess how long until the man would come back and hurt him, how long he had to rest, but without any way to tell time, it was nearly impossible. It was always harder when he was woken up to the sound of the heavy metal door opening. He would wake up disoriented and confused and it made it harder to decipher all of the questions the man was asking. He knew that he couldn't give away any information that the man wanted, no matter how much he wanted it all to just end. There were lives at stake, but he didn't really know what it was that he wanted. Neal supposed that made it easier so he didn't say anything to make the pain stop. Neal thought that he knew once, but his thoughts hadn't been too clear for a while.

The room was small, smaller than his old cell in prison, and it was dark, too. Only a single bare lightbulb hung from the ceiling. Neal wasn't sure where he was, but he suspected it was a basement of some sort, being as there were no windows and that there seemed to be a constant dampness in the room.

His hold on sanity was becoming desperate. He knew this, but there wasn't too much he could do about it but wait patiently for the calvary.

There were a lot of uncertainties in his new reality, his new hell, but there was one thing he knew without a shadow of a doubt - Peter was coming. He was coming and he was going to save him from this place, it was just a matter of time. All Neal had to do was wait. Wait and survive.

WCWCWCWC

Over one month ago Peter got a call that Neal's anklet was cut. The last place the anklet had a signal was a block from Neal's apartment in an alley. When Peter got there the only thing that was left was the anklet and Neal's fedora. They were in the middle of the alley, looking like a goodbye that Peter didn't expect, or want.

Peter didn't know if he ran or not, but he expected some sort of clue as to where the conman had run off to. Peter searched for where the younger man ran off to, but is was as if he fell off the face of the earth. There were no Caffrey forgeries, no impressive or daring heists, no nothing. Not even a postcard telling him that he was okay.

There was no evidence of foul play, but Mozzie was still around and Neal would never leave Mozzie, or that's what the little guy claimed. Peter didn't know what to believe.

Neal had been missing for one month and four days when Peter and his team finally got a real lead. It was actually Mozzie who tipped them off to a place he said Neal was definitely at. He didn't say how he knew, but he was so sure of the fact that Peter wasted no time to get a warrant and team together to raid the place.

Peter thought about the day he would find Neal many, many times. He thought he would see his kidnappers making him paint forgeries of priceless paintings they've yet to sell, or maybe counterfeit hundreds. He expected to find him relatively intact as his health was important to make good forgeries. He had imagined that Neal would smile at him and no doubt have a smart-mouth comment to say, like 'it's about time you got here' or 'what took you so long?' or even 'fancy seeing you here.'

Or if he did in fact run off, Peter thought it would be like the first time he caught Neal. It would be civil and bittersweet. Of course Kate wouldn't be there. Peter had wondered why Neal ran now that there was no Kate to run to. She was the reason he got caught, both times.

Out of all the scenarios swimming around in his head, he never expected to see the man that was always full of life and happiness no matter what life threw at him to be cowering in a small, dark room that smelled of waste, mold and fear.

When Peter and Diana opened the door to the small room in the basement he heard a small, heartbreaking whimper. Peter moved the beam of his flashlight around until he found what he had been looking for for over a month. He was leaning against the wall in the corner, trying to hide his face from the harsh light. His legs were pulled up against himself, possibly for warmth considering how cold it was in the room and the fact that he was only wearing a dirty t-shirt and slacks. But it could have been for some form of comfort as well, as small as it might have been.

When he risked a glance at them, Peter's breath caught in his throat. There was so much terror in those usually vibrant and mischievous blue eyes. In all of his years he'd never seen something so heart-rending.

For far too many moments no one moved. Peter and Diana stared at Neal while Neal hid behind his arms again. Finally Peter put his gun away and cautiously approached the terrified, trembling man while Diana backed out of the room to call for a bus.

Peter must have made a sound because Neal flinched and tried to curl into himself even more, causing the chains around his wrists to clank. Seeing Neal restrained like he was some kind of animal made Peter want to find the man that did this and give him a taste of his own medicine. But right now, Neal needed him.

"Neal?" Peter tried to say quietly, but in the complete silence that was only previously filled with Neal's harsh and wet sounding breaths, it seemed like he was yelling. Neal must have thought the same because he flinched again.

"Neal, its me, Peter," he said, much quieter this time while crouching so he didn't look so intimidating. Neal looked up when Peter said the last word, and there was so much uncertain hope in his eyes when he looked up at Peter that he was fearful to do anything to destroy that tiny spark of hope and make Neal retreat back into himself.

"Hey, Neal. You're okay," Peter whispered. The spark of hope grew bigger and Neal uncurled himself a little. "That's right, Neal. You're safe now."

Neal's dry lips moved like he tried to say something that looked like 'Peter,' but the only thing that came out was a raspy whisper.

"Hey, you want some water?" Peter asked. "I can get you some."

Neal looked uncertainly at Peter for a long moment, like he didn't think Peter was telling the truth, then nodded minutely, timidly.

"Okay, I'll go get some," Peter said and slowly walked back out of the room. Jones was right outside and, to Peter's surprise, he was holding a bottle of water. He must have become a mind reader while he was in the other room. He was also holding small bolt cutters. Yep, definitely a mind reader now.

Peter took the proffered bottle and bolt cutters, nodded his thanks and returned to Neal. Neal was still in the same corner Peter left him in. He looked surprised that Peter came back.

"I'm just going to put the bottle on the ground here. I'm not going to hurt you," Peter said and slowly walked closer to Neal then put the bottle on the ground within his reach.

Neal looked so longingly at the bottle of water you'd think it was the Mona Lisa or something. But he also looked like he would never ask for it for fear of... something. Maybe of being punished. Peter wasn't sure and didn't want to think too hard about it.

"You can take it, Neal. It's yours," Peter encouraged. Neal looked uncertainly at Peter again, then slowly reached out to take the water, and Peter noticed his hands were shaking and the left one looked like it was in bad shape. He twisted off the cap with some effort and took a tentative sip. He must have been thirsty because he started chugging the water down after the first taste.

"Not too fast, Neal. You don't want to choke on it," Peter said and Neal immediately stopped drinking and quickly put the bottle down. He looked afraid again - well, more afraid than a moment ago. "You can still drink it, Neal. I just wanted you to go slower."

Neal looked down at the water, but didn't pick it up again.

"Okay, that's fine. You don't have to drink it," Peter said, then waited a moment before speaking again. "Hey, Neal, you want to get out of here?"

Neal just looked at Peter like he didn't understand what he just said.

"I think you should get checked out, Neal," Peter said, but that must not have been the right thing to say because Neal shook his head and curled up again.

"Neal I want to make sure you're okay - that's it," Peter said. He moved a little closer to the scared young man. "Can you come with me, please?"

Neal looked uncertainly at Peter, like he didn't know if every word that was coming out of his mouth was a lie or not. Eventually he nodded, albeit reluctantly.

Peter approached the scared man and crouched in front of him, Neal watching his every movement closely. He then showed Neal the bolt cutters. Neal let out another small, heart-rendering whimper and stared at Peter with a look of betrayal in his eyes.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Neal," Peter assured the young man. "I just want to get those chains off. Can I do that?"

The look of betrayal slowly disappeared from Neal eyes and he nodded, so Peter slowly reached for the chains. Neal tensed even more, but he let Peter cut through the chains, leaving the cuffs on for the time being.

"There, that's better," Peter said. "Now we can leave?"

Neal still looked unsure, but eventually he uncurled himself and used the wall to help stand up. He must have been hurt because he winced as he stood. He tried to take a step, but he staggered and would have fallen if Peter didn't catch him before he hit the ground.

Peter carefully lowered them to the ground, and Neal looked straight into Peter's eyes. "Trus' you," he said, his voice quiet and very raspy, like he hadn't talked for a long time, which was probably true.

Even though it was hard to hear, Peter knew exactly what he was saying. Trust you. Neal had said it many times before, but this time Peter believe it now more than ever.

And not a moment later did Neal go limp in Peter's arms.

Chapter Text

Ten hours later Peter was sitting in a chair next to the bed that held his emaciated CI. Neal hadn't woken up since he'd passed out in Peter's arms in that hellish room, but, given his condition, it wasn't too surprising.

Dehydration, malnutrition, exhaustion, bruises everywhere. There were small burns in various sizes on his chest and stomach. They appeared to have been made from a taser or cigarette, or possibly both. Cuts, some small and others deeper, and scars in various stages of healing also covered his once untainted body.

He had caught pneumonia because of the condition of the room he had been held in, and because of his broken and partially healed ribs. They had to drain his lungs because there was so much fluid in them. He immediately started breathing better after that, much to everyone's relief.

The doctors had said that there was evidence of his shoulder being dislocated at one point, but it had been put back in place. His lower-left leg had also been broken, but it must have been early in his imprisonment because it was mostly healed. A cast hadn't been put on it, but it healed pretty well and Peter suspected that Neal had tried his best to keep it straight so it could heal as best as it could in the situation he had been in. It was a clean break, so that had helped as well.

The break had been healing on its own so long that the doctors felt that an operation wouldn't do much to help. Neal may walk with a limp, but they couldn't tell until he started walking. His left wrist was also broken, but it had only happened a few days before. The doctors said that his wrist should heal just fine.

They had gotten the manacles off of Neal's wrists when he got to the hospital, but what they found underneath was concerning. Because of the long-term contact with the manacles, his wrists had been rubbed raw and the wounds became infected. The doctors cleaned the wounds up, but with all of the other things Neal's body was fighting, the infection wasn't going away as fast as the doctors were hoping.

With every new injury the doctors told Peter about, the more sick he felt. A month. Neal was in that room for an entire month, going through who knew what while Peter was thinking that he was sitting on a beach somewhere, sipping martinis that were being served by beautiful women. Every time he thought about that the guilt would hit him like a sucker-punch to the stomach.

Peter took another look at his partner. A nasal cannula snaked over some of the bruises on the younger mans face and his hollowed cheekbones. One of the nurses had shaved his beard - that had made him look more like himself, but he was still nowhere close to the suave and charming conman that Peter had thought he knew.

His wrists were in thickly wrapped bandages, but the left one had a cast that could be taken off to get to the infected wounds underneath. His abdomen was also wrapped up to support his ribs and patches of gauze covered various stitched up cuts. Wires and tubes were hooked up to his partner, helping him stay alive. The head of the bed he was in was elevated so he could breathe easier. His hair was longer than the last time Peter had seen him, over a month ago.

Jones and the other agents that raided the rest of the place that Neal was in found another man in the building. His name was Thomas Ritter and according to their intel, the man was a real psychopath. He was the go-to guy when you wanted to get information from a person. Ritter would do his thing, sending pictures of his progress, then when he got what they wanted, he would give them back to his employers or kill them and dump their body if that's what they wanted. Neal was with that man for a month and didn't break. Peter couldn't even begin to imagine what he had gone through, and he really didn't want to.

Peter knew he probably should've been drilling the man that had done all of this to his friend, but Hughes threatened Peter's job if he saw the agent anywhere near the man. Peter was both annoyed and relieved that his boss had said that. Now he didn't have the choice of either interrogating the man that brought one of the strongest men he knew to his knees and be tempted to strangle him, or sit with his young CI and make sure he didn't wake up alone or with someone he didn't know. After everything, Neal needed to know that he was safe.

A low moan brought Peter out of his thoughts. He looked up to see that Neal was stirring. Peter leaned in and soon he was rewarded with two cerulean-blue eyes staring back at him.

Peter smiled, ecstatic to see his friends eyes open. But then Neal cringed back, eyes wide and afraid.

Peter leaned back, hands up in a placating manner. "Hey, it's okay, Neal. It's me, Peter," he said calmly.

Peter's words didn't seem to sooth the man's fears. Neal's eyes flicked from Peter, to the door, to the wall. He looked everywhere, as if he was looking for someone lurking in the corners. Maybe he was.

"Neal, you're safe now. No one is going to hurt you anymore," Peter promised. He hated the 'anymore' to that, but at least the younger man was safe now.

Neal's eyes finally settled on Peter. He looked so scared and unsure. He looked so impossibly young.

"Peter?" Neal croaked past his cracked lips.

"I'm here, buddy. I'm here," Peter said as he moved closer to the ex-conman again.

Then Neal did something Peter didn't expect him to do - he smiled, wide and happy. "Found me," he slurred.

Peter nodded. "I always do." He carefully took Neal's hand in his, almost like he was afraid the younger man would fall apart if he was any less careful. Neal held onto Peter's hand with strength that the agent didn't think he had.

"'Bout damn time," he said, but there was no anger or resentment in his voice, like there should've been. He was still smiling, like he didn't have a care in the world. Peter hoped it would last, but he doubted it would. His memories would come back and he'd remember the hell he had gone through for a month. Peter shoved those thoughts away for the time being. Neal needed him now.

"How long was I...?" Neal asked, trailing off, not wanting to finish the question, but Peter understood what he was asking.

"A month," Peter said with difficulty.

Neal nodded and looked away, processing the information. He looked back at Peter after a minute. "Did you think I ran?" he asked. He didn't sound angry or accusing, just curious.

The guilt hit Peter again, but he tried not to show it. Peter didn't want to lie to him, not now, and he also knew that it was next to impossible to lie to the conman anyway. "The thought might have crossed my mind," he said a little teasingly, wanting to make light of the situation.

Neal smiled again. "Old habits die hard," he said.

"Yours or mine?" Peter asked.

Neal shrugged. "Maybe a little bit of both." He looked over to the window for a moment, then back to Peter. "When can I leave?" he asked.

"You just got here, so I suspect that they won't let you go until you can at least walk a straight line," Peter said.

"I don't remember trying, so how could they possibly know?" Neal asked lightly, but Peter saw the question in his eyes.

"The pneumonia, broken ribs and healing leg are pretty good indicators," Peter told him with a lightness that he didn't feel.

Neal's smile didn't even falter and that made Peter wonder what exactly they had the younger man on, and if he could maybe get some.

"Well, I'm tired anyway," Neal said as he relaxed into the pillows some more.

"Get some sleep, Neal. I'll be here when you wake up," Peter said softly. Neal closed his eyes and the younger man was soon oblivious to the world around him as he slept soundly for the first time in far too long.

WCWCWCWC

Peter was still sitting with Neal the next time he woke up. He had been making phone calls to update everyone on Neal's condition and to keep up to date on the investigation. He wanted to help catch the man behind all of this, but Hughes wouldn't let that happen.

Right after Peter got off of the phone with Elizabeth, Neal's eyes pinched shut as he grasped the bedsheets in a death grip. Then his back arched off of the bed a little, as if he was in pain. A cry escaped his throat, raw and thick.

Peter untangled one of Neal's hands from the blankets and gave it a slight squeeze. Neal squeezed back. "Neal? Hey, Neal. It's me, Peter," Peter said, trying to get Neal to focus. "You're okay. You're safe now."

"Don't know," Neal whispered urgently, shaking his head.

"What don't you know, Neal?" Peter asked, confused.

"Don't know," he said again, but louder and sounding more upset. It almost sounded like he was pleading.

"It's okay, Neal. It's okay. Whatever you don't know, it's okay," Peter soothed.

Neal continued to repeat the same two words over and over. Peter suspected that Neal was having a nightmare caused by his recent experiences - he thought that he was being asked for information again. The thought twisted at Peter's insides.

The agent tried to wake Neal by shaking him gently. "Hey, Neal, it's only a dream. You're safe now. Wake up, buddy," he said, trying to get Neal to come back to reality.

Neal flinched away from Peter's touch, but when the agent started talking he immediately stopped his mantra.

"That's it, Neal. Can you open your eyes?" Peter asked.

After a moment, Neal obeyed. He looked around nervously, then he looked at Peter. He seemed to calm instantly, but he was still very tense. "Where is he?" he asked as he started looking around again.

"Who?" Peter asked, but he had a sinking suspicion that he knew.

"Him," Neal said, like it was obvious.

"He's not here, Neal. You're safe now. He's not going to hurt you anymore," Peter said.

"Can you keep watch? Make sure we know when he comes back?" Neal asked, either not hearing Peter or ignoring him. "I'm just so tired. I don't know how much longer I can stay awake."

Peter nodded. "I'll keep watch, I'll make sure he doesn't hurt you," he said, not sure what else to say.

"Thank you," Neal said, sounding more than relieved. He closed his eyes and fell asleep moments later. Knowing that Peter was watching over him must have been enough to make him think that he was safe enough to rest.

Chapter Text

Neal was in and out of consciousness for the next two days, not really aware of the world around him. Most of the time when he woke, he would be scared and afraid, but when he saw Peter, he would calm down and reach for the agent and hold his hand as he fell back to sleep.

Peter didn't want him to wake up alone in his fragile state of mind, so he never left the ex-conman's side. Day or night, Peter was next to his injured friend. Mozzie came by a few times, but he was busy trying to find the man behind the terrible things that were done to Neal in his own, not-so-legal way. Elizabeth visited often, but she had a catering business to run and couldn't stay all day. June was on vacation with family and no one had been able to contact her yet. Jones and Diana had come by as well, but since Peter couldn't lead the investigation, they were in charge of things and had a full plate.

The last couple of days had been hard on Peter too, so Hughes let Peter take time off to be there for Neal. Peter couldn't help catch the guy behind everything anyway and he knew that he wouldn't have been able to focus on any other case, so there wasn't really a point to be at work for the time being.

Each day Neal was slowly getting better. His pneumonia was starting to clear up and everything that the doctors were pumping into him were giving his body the much needed nutrients that it had been lacking for far too long.

The next time Neal was awake he seemed a lot more lucid, but there was a haunted look in his eyes that scared Peter. He also kept looking out the window, but Peter had seen the state of the room he had been held in, so he understood, at least a little. Peter didn't want to think what his own state of mind would be if he hadn't been able to see the sun for a month.

"Everybody's going to think that I'm lying about you being awake if you keep waking up while they're not here," Peter joked, earning a small smile from Neal. After the first time Neal had woken up, he hadn't smiled much, so it was nice to see one on his face, however short it was.

There was a sudden sound from outside of the room, probably just something falling, but Neal flinched and reached out for Peter's hand. Peter took it without any hesitation, but wondered if Neal even knew he was reaching out for him. Neal was watching the door like 'He' would come walking in any second.

"It's okay, Neal. It was probably just someone knocking something over. You're safe," Peter reassured the younger man.

Neal finally looked away from the door to look at Peter, a look of shame and embarrassment coming across his face, then looked away. Peter just rubbed the hand that was in his own, comforting Neal as much as he could. A few minutes later Neal took his hand away, like he was trying to prove that he didn't need the security anymore. Peter let Neal pull himself back together as he started talking about what had been going on while the younger man was gone.

Peter had been staying far away from any topics that might upset Neal. It hadn't been too easy, but Peter definitely didn't want to upset Neal in any way.

The younger man still needed to make his statement, but Peter had been holding the other agents off for the time being so he could recuperate before reliving the nightmare. It would slow the investigation down, but peter ignored the FBI agent inside of him and listened to the almost fatherly part of him that had laid dormant until Neal had come into his life.

A nurse came in a few minutes later. They were talking about nothing in particular, but Neal immediately stopped talking and kept his eyes warily, almost fearfully, on the young woman as she messed with one of the machines that were hooked up to Neal. Peter moved his chair back a little so he wouldn't be in the way.

Once she was done checking Neal's stats, she came closer to the bed. "Let me just check your bandages, Mr. Caffrey," she said as she approached Neal.

Neal flinched away from her perfectly manicured hands when they reached out to touch him. "Don't!" he shouted in fear and maybe a little bit of anger.

The woman immediately backed up and a look of concern came across her pretty face.

Peter stood up and put himself between Neal and the nurse. Peter knew that the Neal that he knew one month ago wouldn't hurt anyone, but the Neal that he was looking at now was a different man, a fearful man, and people that are scared could lash out at those who appear to be a threat. Even though the nurse that tried to touch Neal didn't look at all intimidating, Neal seemed to be associating threats with people that wanted to touch him. Although, Peter had touched him. Actually, Neal had been the one initiating the contact more than Peter. It seemed to ground him for some reason and Peter had been more than happy to help him through everything in any way he could.

When Peter got closer to the bed Neal reached out and grabbed his hand, gripping tightly as he still watched the nurse fearfully. He looked to Peter for a second and the agent could see that Neal was ashamed to need the contact, the security, but not enough to not ask for it.

"It's okay, Neal. She's not going to hurt you," Peter said soothingly.

"Sir, I still need to check your wound," the nurse said as she took a step forward, apparently not one to back down easily.

"No," Neal said as he shook his head fearfully. He leaned closer to Peter and gripped his hand tighter, the pressure becoming almost painful for Peter.

Peter had never seen Neal so vulnerable before all of this. The ex-conman usually kept his emotions very close to the vest, but after everything, it appeared that the young man wasn't able to keep his previously unpenetrated façade up. Peter hadn't thought that was possible.

"It's okay, Neal," Peter said, then turned to the nurse. "Do you really need to check his wound?"

"Yes, I need to make sure there's not any signs of infection," she said.

Peter sighed then looked back at Neal. "Neal, can she just look at the wound for a second?" he asked.

Neal shook his head and leaned even closer toward Peter. "No, please," he begged quietly. It broke Peter up inside to hear the desperation in the younger man's voice.

Peter knew he could force Neal to let the nurse look at the wound, but he couldn't do that to him - not after what happened. Unfortunately, Neal still needed medical attention. That would be difficult when no one could touch him.

"Okay, Neal. No one will touch you," Peter said, causing the nurse to look at him questionably. Peter just shook his head, silently telling her not to argue right then.

Neal relaxed after Peter said that, but he still didn't let go of Peter's hand. Peter needed to talk with the doctor and the slightly annoyed looking nurse in front of him, but he didn't want to leave Neal. He had been very clingy since he had woken up the first time and Peter didn't know how he would react to the agent leaving him. Never know until you try, Peter supposed.

"Neal, I need to talk to the doctor for a few minutes, okay?"

Neal looked up and shook his head, his eyes wide and alarmed. "No, don't leave!" he said as he gripped Peter's hand tightly.

Peter turned to look directly at his friend, taking both of his smaller hands in his larger, rougher ones. "I'm only going to be gone a few minutes, I promise. I'm not going to let anything else happen to you, okay?"

Neal stared at Peter for a long minute, then nodded. "Okay, you can go," he said as he reluctantly released his grip on Peter's hands.

Peter patted Neal's shoulder, then left the room with the nurse.

"What was all of that?" the nurse asked after the door shut, sounding more concerned than angry.

"Do you know how he was hurt?" Peter asked, trying to figure out how much he was going to have to explain.

"No, I'm usually on the second floor and I just got here a half an hour ago," she said, shaking her head.

Peter sighed and hung his head for a moment. Explaining what had happened would make it all the more real, in Peter's opinion. "He was held and tortured for a month," he said in a detached voice. The words seemed to physically hurt Peter deep in his heart.

Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my god!...W-why? Why was he held?" she asked.

Peter shook his head. "Information of some sort. I don't know what exactly yet." That was one of the things that was bugging him the most. What kind of information did they think he had? Whoever 'they' were.

She shook her head, tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. I would have acted differently if I had known."

"It's okay. I told the rest of the staff that have been around Neal recently and I would have let you know if I knew you were new."

She nodded. "I understand, but now we have a problem. What are we going to do if we can't touch him?"

Neal had been unconscious every other time someone had needed to check his bandages or IV, so this was a new problem. "I think I need to talk to his doctor and figure that out. Do you know where he is?"

"I saw him in the break room a few minutes ago," she said. "I'll go see if he's still in there." She turned on her heel and quickly walked down the crowded hallway. Peter wasn't sure what they would do, but hopefully Neal's doctor would help figure that out.

A few minutes later the nurse and the doctor that Peter had met before came walking down the hall towards him. Peter was pretty sure his name was Dr. Campbell, but after the painfully long couple of days he had had, he wasn't positive. He'd just have to avoid saying his name for the time being.

"Agent Burke, Jolie told me about what happened," Dr. Campbell said as he looked at Peter with kind but intelligent eyes. Apparently the nurses name was Jolie. 'I really needed to listen for people's names more,' Peter thought to himself. The doctor gestured for them to take a walk.

Peter turned to Jolie. "Please make sure no one goes in his room," he said as he pointed at Neal's room. Jolie nodded and went to stand next to the door. No one had been alone with Neal besides Peter so far and he didn't really want to know how the kid would react to strangers around him without Peter to ground him.

Peter and the doctor started walking down the hallway and soon they were at a less crowded area of the hospital.

"I had known that Mr. Caffrey's situation was different, but I didn't think that we wouldn't be able to treat him," Dr. Campbell said.

Peter had liked Campbell when they met the first time after Neal was brought in. He had been sympathetic and kind when he explained the extent of Neal's injuries to Peter.

"Yes, I'm not sure how to proceed with this."

"Jolie said that Mr. Caffrey let you touch him," the doctor started, though Peter wasn't sure where he was going with that.

"Yeah, he usually reaches for me, actually. But he won't let his best friend or my wife touch him. And both of them are very close to him." Both Elizabeth and Mozzie had been a little hurt by that, but they accepted that Neal had been through a hellish experience where the only time he had seen or was touched by anyone for a month was when Ritter came in and hurt him. It was the only time he had contact with any human for an entire month. Neal was a social animal by nature and not seeing or talking to anyone besides that monster must have been hell. It was no wonder why he was afraid of other people touching him.

"Why me? Why me and not my wife or his best friend?" Peter couldn't help but ask. He didn't think that the doctor would have an answer, but he did.

"If I may, Agent Burke, I Believe that it is because of your relationship before and the fact that you were the one to find him, I think that Mr. Caffrey has made the connection that you mean safety. In his mind, nothing bad will happen to him if you're around to keep him safe."

"I wish that were true," Peter said grimly.

"You didn't do this to him, you're the one that saved him. Remember that," the doctor said, his voice more serious than it had been before.

Peter nodded in reluctant agreement.

"I believe that Mr. Caffrey is desperate for human contact that doesn't involve pain or fear," the doctor continued. "He's found that with you, when he holds your hand."

Peter shook his head, still confused about everything. He didn't understand why Neal thought that he meant safety. Until he actually saw that Neal wasn't living it up in some ridiculously expensive hotel in another country, the agent had thought that the younger man had just taken off, no explanation, no goodbye, no nothing.

Peter felt ashamed for how little he had thought of Neal. The younger man had been trying to put his life back together after the death of his girlfriend and the nearly-fatal shooting of his friend - his better friend that had never thought that he had just left without a goodbye. Neal had been recovering well from what had happened to him before his kidnapping, but Peter was deathly afraid that the younger man wouldn't be able to recover from this.

Just then, Jolie came rushing from the other direction. "Agent Burke?" she called, making Peter turn around to face her.

"Yes?" Peter said, hoping she had a good reason to leave Neal's door unguarded.

"Umm, Mr. Caffrey is asking for you and he's getting pretty worked up," she said, looking a little concerned.

"Okay, thank you," Peter said, then gave a slightly apologetic look to the doctor. He was going to have to make sure Neal was okay and didn't do something Neal-like, or even worse, not Neal-like.

Peter left the doctor and made his way back to Neal's room. When he walked through the door he was surprised to see that Neal was sitting at the edge of the bed, his legs hanging off the bed and not quite reaching the floor. There was a light sheen of sweat on his face and Peter guessed that it took a lot out of him to just get upright. It was still shocking to see the fragile condition of his CI.

"I'm signing out AMA," Neal said the moment he saw Peter.

"No, you're not," Peter said immediately, shaking his head.

"You can't stop me, Peter. I may not have too many rights, but I have the right to leave if I want to," Neal argued, being stubborn like usual.

"You can barely walk across the room without help. How are you going to take care of yourself when you can't even make it to the toilet without someone making sure you don't fall and crack open your head?" Peter said, then immediately regretted his words when a shamed and hurt look came across Neal's face.

"I'll manage," he choked out, not looking at Peter.

There was a tense silence for a long moment. "You still can't leave. You need to get better, and the doctors and nurses will help you with that. They'll take care of you here, Neal."

"I don't want anyone touching me," Neal said firmly but still with a waver in his voice, shaking his head. That haunted look was in his eyes again. Neal didn't want anyone touching him except the man that saved him from the place that caused him to fear human contact. The whole situation was messed up, in Peter's opinion.

Peter sighed. He didn't want to argue with Neal about him staying, but it wasn't like he could just go home, eat some chicken noodle soup, get some rest and he'd be better in a few days. His body was weak and it would take a long time for it to heal. And that wasn't even mentioning the current state of his mind. After a serious traumatic experience, each person responds differently and Peter was worried how Neal would act after everything. Peter didn't think that he would go so far as - god forbid - taking his own life, but the haunted look in the younger man's eyes showed Peter a fraction of the hell that Neal had gone through in that month, and what he was still going through. From past experiences, Peter knew that Neal would probably just put that fake smile on his face and tell everyone that he was just fine, even though everyone would be able to see past his brittle façade, then fall apart when no one was looking. Peter wasn't going to let it happen like that this time though. He was going to be there for his friend this time around, whether either of them liked it or not.

Before Peter could try to figure out how to persuade Neal to stay, the door opened and Dr. Campbell walked in. Neal stiffened, then looked to Peter, possibly for help or security. His hand reached out a little, but Peter was too far away to touch. Peter didn't notice either of these things though as he was looking at the new arrival.

"Mr. Caffrey, it's good to see you're awake," the doctor said cheerfully but still calmly.

"Peter," Neal said quietly, prompting Peter to look at him. The agent could see the fear and embarrassment in the younger man's eyes. He was a little confused about the second emotion, but when he saw the slightly extended hand, he could tell what Neal was asking.

Without even having to think about it, Peter went over to Neal's side and took his hand. Neal squeezed it in silent thanks then calmed down quite a bit after the contact. Peter looked to see that Dr. Campbell was watching them with a fascinated look on his face, apparently intrigued by the two men's interactions. Peter didn't really understand it himself.

"Agent Burke, can I speak with you for a moment?" the doctor suddenly asked.

Peter looked at Neal and could see the fear in his expression by what the doctor had said. "I need to talk to the doctor, Neal, but then I will come back. I promise, okay?"

Neal sighed, then nodded reluctantly after a second. Peter released Neal's hand, patted the younger man on the shoulder, then walked out the door with the doctor.

"He wants to sign out AMA," Peter informed the doctor. "I don't know what to do to stop him without physically strapping him to the bed - which is not going to happen."

Dr. Campbell nodded. "If Mr. Caffrey wants to leave this badly, then I think it might be best - if he has someone to take care of him and he takes it easy, that is. If he isn't so tense and worried all the time then he would heal faster, both physically and mentally," he said. "He doesn't seem to want anyone's help but yours. Are you able to stay with him?"

"Of course. I'll be there for him. He can stay at me and my wife's house," Peter said immediately. A month ago Peter wouldn't have thought that he would bring his CI home and take care of him, but after everything, it seemed like the most natural thing to do.

Peter hadn't even thought about what would happen when Neal was released because it really wasn't something to worry about at the time - and heaven knew that there were plenty of other things to worry about - but Neal's plan to leave changed that. It wasn't like Neal would've been able to stay at his apartment, June and her staff not being there to help him and all. Elizabeth wouldn't have a problem with Neal staying with them. She was even probably going to be proud of him by immediately jumping in and offering to help his friend.

Neal's recovery will be a long, hard journey, but Peter was willing to help Neal through it in anyway he could. And Peter knew that Neal would've done the same for him.

Chapter Text

Before Peter went back into Neal's room, he mentally prepared himself to tell Neal that he was only going to be able to leave if he stayed with him and Elizabeth at their house in Brooklyn. The agent had no idea how Neal would react to that, but the younger man had been wanting to stay by Peter so far, so Peter hoped that maybe he'd just say yes and make everything easier on them. That just seemed unlikely given Neal's track record though.

Fortunately, the moment Peter mentioned to Neal about staying at his house, the kid jumped on that idea like it was a plan to break into the MET together and steal everything they could carry, gift shop tchotchkes and all.

It wasn't easy to get Neal ready to leave when Peter was the only one that could help him, but Neal was adamant about no one touching him but Peter. After a few minutes of debate, Jolie was able to come in the room to help as long as she did not touch Neal.

Once Neal was finally ready to go, Peter was given a large bag filled with prescriptions, bandages and other medical stuff so he could take care of Neal properly. He wasn't sure if he could do it, but he was going to try, for Neal. Of course he had Elizabeth to help him - she'll be a huge help.

A moment that Peter had been dreading was putting the anklet back on Neal. He was afraid that Neal would argue, or worse, freak out when he was told that he had to wear it again. The thought of being bound again, though not with chains, might upset him and Peter really didn't want that to be a problem. No anklet meant no freedom and prison would be a hundred times worse than dealing with the anklet.

But what Neal did when Peter pulled out the anklet was surprising - Neal smiled, small, private, real. It made Peter smile as well. They didn't say anything when Peter secured the device onto Neal's ankle, they didn't need to.

Neal had been restless and anxious when he was at the hospital and a little while in the car, but once they made it to the house he seemed to finally relax, the throw pillow, couch blanket and safe, calming setting helping him with that. Both Peter and Neal decided that the couch was the best place for Neal to rest for the time being. Both men needed the visual confirmation that the other was there, and the amount of steps to the guest bedroom seemed quite daunting.

Peter had finally gotten Neal to fall asleep when someone knocked on the door. Peter looked at Neal's sleeping form on the couch, expecting him to bolt awake and reach for Peter, but the younger man just turned his head into the back of the couch and continued to sleep away, oblivious to the noise.

With a sigh of relief, Peter got up and answered the door, with Satchmo by his side, ready to greet whoever came in with licks, whether it be a burglar or friend.

Peter was definitely surprised and a little concerned to see Hughes on his front step. It wasn't the first time his boss had been at his house, but whenever he came around he seemed to bring bad news with him.

"Hughes," Peter said. "Come in."

Peter let Hughes in and they walked into the living room. Hughes looked over to Neal's sleeping form, a sympathetic look coming across his worn features. "How's he doing?" he asked quietly.

"As well as could be expected," Peter said with a sigh. Peter signaled for them to step into the kitchen so they didn't accidentally wake the younger man. "He's been through hell," Peter continued after they reached the kitchen. Peter got out two beers and handed one to his boss. He opened his own and took a swig.

Hughes nodded in grim agreement. "That's kind of what I came to talk to you about," he said after he took a sip of his own beer.

Peter took another drink, wishing he had something stronger.

"Ritter, the man that had...held Caffrey, has been asking to talk to you," Hughes said, unnecessarily explaining who Ritter was. Peter would never forget that name.

Hughes held up his hand before Peter could complain about his boss not telling him about Ritter. "I didn't tell you because I didn't think I'd let you see him, but we're not getting anywhere with him. I wouldn't usually let someone as close as you are to this case anywhere near it, but whoever ordered this is still out there. He's still a major threat to Caffrey and I won't let him get any more hurt than he already is when I could have called you in to help."

"You're letting me talk to him?" Peter asked, wanting to make sure he heard right.

Hughes nodded a little reluctantly. "Yes. But only if you can control you're emotions enough not to hit or kill him," Hughes said, then mumbled mostly to himself, "I've been tempted more than once." The older man would never admit it, but Neal had wormed his way into his heart, and many other hearts, with his charm, invaluable knowledge with everything to do with cons and forgeries, child-like outlook on life and likable personality.

"I'll try my best," Peter conceded. He had thought about punching the living daylight out of the bastard more than once, so he wasn't making any promises.

"I guess that's the best I can expect from you with this," Hughes said, then sighed. "I have to warn you, Peter, he's going to try to get in your head, make you angry, but you're going to have to not let him get to you. I've already had two agents walk out in the middle of an interrogation and one that tried to strangle him."

"Diana?" Peter guessed with a upward tilt of his lips. Even though she'd never admit it either, she was also one of the ones that cared for the younger man.

"You know your agents well," Hughes said, smirking a little. "She didn't get kicked off the case, but she's not allow to interrogate Ritter anymore."

"That's probably best," Peter said, then both men were silent for a minute as they sipped their beers. "Did you talk to the higher-ups about giving Neal time off?" Peter asked.

Hughes nodded. "I did. They said that they'll give Caffrey time to heal from his physical wounds, but not his emotional ones. Whether he's mentally prepared to work or not, he'll have to when the time comes if he wants to stay out of prison. I'm sorry, but that was all the time I could get for him. They wanted him to go back to jail while he recovered, but I wasn't going to let that happen."

"Thank you, Reese," Peter said sincerely. Not having to deal with the Marshals breathing down their necks for a while was a relief.

"I know that you haven't let Caffrey give a statement, and I understand that you're doing that to protect him, but I need you to at least ask him what information Ritter wanted and if he ever saw anyone else or heard another name. The only time the bastards been talking is when he's trying to get under one of my agents skin."

"I'll talk to him," Peter promised. They all needed answers, whether Neal wanted to talk or not. It was essential for Neal to give them all of the information he had to be able to catch the guy that wanted whatever information that Neal had. Peter had been putting it off because he wanted Neal to recover as much as he could before he was bombarded with questions about the hell he went through, but he had pushed it off as much as he could.

The older agent left after a few more minutes of talking. Peter looked at Neal after he shut the front door. The kid was still asleep, looking far too innocent to possibly be a world-renowned art thief, forger and conman.

Sometimes Peter wondered where it all went wrong in Neal's life, when he chose - or was chosen for him - that he'd be a thief and lier, conning his way to the top instead of doing it the honest way, the way Peter did it. When trust became something that had to be earned and not expected. Or maybe it was more of a gradual thing - loosing a father at a young age, having to steal because his single mother couldn't afford much with the two jobs she was working to keep a roof over their heads, getting mixed up with the wrong crowd. Maybe his step-father was even abusive. Peter didn't know enough about Neal's childhood to really know. Peter always felt like he needed to pat the kid on the shoulder or something after he thought of that, tell him in his own way that he was cared for. He usually held his wife instead. Now he regretted not reassuring the younger man that he had friends more often.

As Peter watched Neal sleep, as he looked at the bruises and hollowed cheekbones that he was still not used to, he decided to wait until Elizabeth came home before leaving Neal. Peter hoped that Neal would be okay with him leaving for a few hours, but given his past reactions, it was probably going to be a fight.

WCWCWCWC

Elizabeth opened the front door as quietly as she could, not wanting to wake up the conman sleeping on her sofa. Satchmo didn't even know she was home until he saw her walk into the kitchen where him and Peter were sitting, both watching over Neal from a distance. The lab got up immediately to welcome her back.

"Hey, hon. How's Neal?" she asked after giving Satchmo love, concern heard plainly in her voice and by the little wrinkle that had formed between her eyebrows.

"He woke up about an hour ago. I gave him some of that bland broth stuff that the doctors recommend and he fell asleep soon after that. He didn't eat much, but I couldn't really blame him - that stuff probably would have him tilting his nose up if he was more lucid at the time."

"I know, but he can't eat anything that's too rich," she said.

"More like anything with any taste," Peter muttered, making Elizabeth smile a little, one that said she was proud of him for caring for Neal.

He got up and kissed his wife, then knowing he had to leave as soon as he could, walked over to the semi-retired conman that was sleeping on his couch, Elizabeth following. He had called her and told her that he had to leave, so she already knew that she had to take care of Neal while he was gone. Peter would've fine with leaving Neal in her capable hands, but he wasn't sure if Neal would be okay with that being as he had wanted Peter to stay near him since his rescue.

Neal was still asleep, but he had been moving restlessly around since he had fallen back asleep. "I should wake him up and tell him I'm leaving, shouldn't I?" Peter asked as he looked down at Neal, though he already knew the answer, he just didn't want to wake him.

"You know it'll be worse if he wakes up and doesn't know where you are," Elizabeth said as she hugged him from behind.

Peter nodded then looked back at Neal only to see two blue eyes staring back at him. Peter could tell by the tense lines around Neal's eyes that he was in some pain. It had been some time since he had taken any pain medication.

Elizabeth moved around Peter to crouch down near Neal's head. Neal had been okay with people he knew getting close to him, but hadn't really liked them touching him. Expect Peter, of course.

"Hey, sweetie. How you feeling?" Elizabeth asked quietly.

"Thirsty," Neal rasped, not really answering the question.

"Okay, I'll go get you something to drink," she said, then got up and went into the kitchen.

Neal watched her go, then turned to Peter, an apologetic smile on his face. "I'm sorry about earlier - at the hospital. I have a feeling I was pretty high and I probably said some things that I didn't mean."

Peter agreed that Neal had most likely been pretty drugged up, but that probably only lower Neal's defenses enough for him to express how he really felt, what he really needed. Now that he wasn't on the good stuff, Neal was able to put up his façade and hide all of his vulnerabilities. For some reason that Peter could never figure out, Neal felt that he needed appear more than human. No vulnerabilities, no flaws, just smooth perfection. His charm and smiles were his armor that he felt that he couldn't take off when anyone, even Peter most of the time, was around. Peter was going to have make sure that he knew he didn't have to fight this battle alone.

"Don't worry about it," Peter said, then sat down in the little space on the couch next to Neal's outstretched legs. "I'm going to have to go the office for a little bit, Neal, but Elizabeth's going to be here and it should only take a few hours."

"You're leaving?" Neal asked, the fear in his voice masked but not enough for Peter not to hear it. Peter saw that Neal's hand twitched a little, but he didn't reach out for the agents hand. Peter grabbed Neal's hand so he didn't have to make the decision himself. The contact relaxed Neal a little, but he was still tense.

"Like I said, Elizabeth will be here. She'll get you whatever you need. And don't be afraid to ask. She loves mother-henning."

"I'll be fine, Peter. Go and catch the bad guys," Neal said, a fake smile on his face that almost looked real. The smile disappeared when he suddenly was caught in a coughing fit that lasted far too long. Peter tried to comfort him through it, but he didn't really know what to do to help. Eventually the wet, painful coughs subsided and lied back down, panting.

Peter waited until his breathing returned to what was normal for him right now before he continued. "Before I go...I need to ask you a few questions," Peter said a little hesitantly. Neal tensed, but nodded for Peter to continue. "What did the man that was holding you want?"

Neal looked away and took a breath. "He wanted to know where Eli Fetcher is," he said, attempting to hide the haunted look in his eyes, but Peter was looking for it.

Peter remembered the Fetcher case. Eli Fetcher had witnessed the murder of a fellow security guard during a robbery of a gallery that they had been guarding. The murderer didn't see him, but had somehow caught wind of there being a witness after the fact. Eli had given his description to a sketch artist, but the man was never identified. White Collar was brought into the case because of the painting that had been stolen, but after being unable to catch the guy, the Marshals decided to put Eli and his four year old daughter in WITSEC for their own protection. Neal had been very upset about them going into witness protection for some reason. He had even gone so far as to try to hunt down the man himself. Fortunately the guy had left the country before things got even more bloody. Peter had been so angry at Neal when he had so recklessly tried to stop Eli and his daughter from having to go into WITSEC. He still didn't understand why Neal had done that.

But if it was the man that had shot the security guard, which was more than likely, then why did he have Ritter kidnap Neal to get the location of where Eli was? No one that worked that case knew where Eli and his daughter were, not even Peter. It was the Marshals job to take care of people in witness protection. Peter figured that the man must not have known that.

"I didn't know where Fetcher was being held at, never did. I tried to tell him that, at the beginning. He just wouldn't listen," Neal said, a shiver going down his spine and reinforcing what Peter had just thought.

Peter gently rubbed Neal's knuckles with his thumb. "Did you ever see or hear about anyone else besides the one man?" Peter asked softly.

Neal shook his head. "No," he said, looking straight ahead.

"Okay. Thank you for telling me," Peter said as he gave Neal's hand a squeeze. Neal squeezed back, then released Peter's hand. "I'll be back a soon as possible," Peter said, then left after saying goodbye to Elizabeth, who had just brought Neal some watered-down tea and pain medication. She'd take care of Neal while Peter was gone, he was sure of that, but he still felt guilty as he shut the door and walked down the front steps.

WCWCWCWC

That uneasy feeling returned the moment Peter left, making Neal feel like he wasn't safe anymore. He knew that Peter couldn't watch over him every second of the day like some newborn baby, but whenever the older man wasn't around, Neal felt like 'He' would come back and take him away from his new-found safety. It was a terrifying thought, but, of course, Neal's wasn't going to let Elizabeth see how scared he was of who might be lurking the shadows. She probably knew that he wasn't quite his charming self - he couldn't be with all of his injuries and the damn pneumonia - but he was pretty sure that he had her at least a little fooled, even if he couldn't fool himself.

Neal told himself that Peter wasn't the sole reason that he was safe - 'He' was locked up and couldn't hurt him anymore. When that didn't work, he told himself that Peter would be back soon and then everything would be okay. That worked a little better, but Peter wasn't there, wasn't making sure he was still safe. It was irrational, but he just couldn't get himself to relax. Peter had saved him from that hellish place, and now it seemed like Neal could go back any second if Peter wasn't there to stop it.

Neal had always been independent, even from a young age. He had to be with his dad never even being around and his mother not knowing that he existed most days. But now he felt a foreign, unwavering need for Peter to be with him. It was a little unsettling to want to - need to - rely on someone to keep him safe and calm. The feeling was unfamiliar and strange, but not one he could shake. He wondered if that was a bad thing.

The medication that Elizabeth had given him was making him tired, even though he had just woken up, so he was having to work to keep his eyes open. Neal knew of the horrors that were waiting for him behind closed eyes, so the thought of falling asleep was almost as scary as Peter leaving. After a few minutes of fighting, Neal lost his battle and drifted off, leaving the relative safety of the Burke's living room to the memories that he couldn't escape when asleep.

WCWCWCWC

With his signature fedora sitting jauntily atop his head and wearing one of his favorite vintage suits, Neal walked down an empty New York street, unaware of the evil lurking in the shadows.

If Neal had decided to take Peter up on his offer to drive him home before heading to his own home in Brooklyn or taking a taxi to his apartment, then he wouldn't have been walking down an empty New York street. If he was more focused on his surroundings and not deep in thought about the new case him and Peter were working on, he might have seen the man in the shadows of a nearby building before he jumped out and covered the conman's mouth with a chloroform-soaked rag. If the man that was forcing Neal to inhale the fumes of the drug was an amateur at what he did or if Peter had taken Neal up on those self-defense classes, then maybe Neal would've had a chance at escaping the iron-clad grip form the man behind him.

All of these variables accounted for the kidnapping of Neal Caffrey on a beautiful early fall night with New Yorkers in their nearby town houses none the wiser. The world kept turning, unaware of the cruel fate of the young CI.

The butterfly effect, an evil part of nature that played a small yet crucial part of a cruel and heinous kidnapping and subsequent torture of a young ex-conman that had only just begun to heal from the other wounds life had inflicted so harshly on him.

Chapter Text

Peter watched Ritter from the one-way mirror, studied the upward tilt of his lips, the relaxed posture, the way he just sat there, waiting. He looked far too normal to possibly be the sadistic man that kidnapped and tortured Neal for a month. He was forty-two years old and had light brown hair that was a little longer than Peter's. He was a normal sized man, but he had a well-built frame, one that could overpower someone smaller. 'Someone like Neal,' Peter tried not to think.

Peter hadn't even heard him talk yet and he was already furious. His anger wanted to take control, made him want to throttle the bastard in the next room, but he didn't let it. Taking a steadying breath, Peter entered the interrogation room.

Ritter looked up and the smile on his face grew. "Special Agent Peter Burke," he said in an over-formal voice. "It's an honor to finally meet you."

Peter ignored the man as he sat down across from him, placing the file that he had in his hands on the table that was between them.

"I imagine that my reputation has made its way to you as well. Am I right?" Ritter asked.

Peter nodded. "I know exactly who you are," he said, only letting a little bit of the anger he felt inside seep into his voice.

Ritter smiled again and leaned back in his seat, looking far too comfortable for a man in handcuffs.

"Who hired you to kidnap and torture Neal Caffrey?" Peter asked, getting down to the reason why he was here. He tried not to show the fact that the words he just spoke churned at his stomach.

"Oh, I can't tell you that. That'd ruin all the fun!" Ritter said, like it was all some fun game.

"You're looking down the barrel of life in prison. If you tell me who's behind this, it'll make your time behind bars a lot easier." Peter hated offering that, but what Ritter had to tell him was a matter of Neal's safety and that wasn't something Peter was willing to risk. The man in front of him deserved what he did to Neal happen to him, and much more, but letting his worthless existence be a little less terrible was going to have to be the price Peter was going to have to pay for Neal's safety.

"Did you know that he begged me to kill him? To just end it?" Ritter asked out of the blue, smirk still in place. "It didn't even take him very long." He leaned in close, his voice just a whisper. "Your boy is weak."

It took every ounce of willpower that Peter had to not lunge over the table and strangle the man right then and there. "He survived the hell you put him through. He's stronger than you ever could be," he said, letting his anger be shown that time.

"He begged in...eight different languages, I think," Ritter continued as if Peter hadn't spoken at all. "It's fascinating how many languages he knows. I had to look up a few to figure out which language he was speaking. Did you know that he spoke Conversational Swahili?"

Peter, with great difficulty, chose to ignore that. "We have all of your financial records, we know every person that you called in the last year and we know everything else there is to know about you. We're going to find out who hired you, one way or another. If you tell me now, it'll be easier for everyone."

"Oh, us criminals are far too smart for it to be that easy. Caffrey taught you that, didn't he? You know, he and I are more alike than you'd think. I learned that early in our sessions." He nodded, agreeing with himself.

Sessions, like Ritter was a psychiatrist and Neal was his patient. The man was truly deluded - not that Peter had any sympathy for him.

Peter opened the file that was on the table and pulled out three pictures. One was of Neal's torso, the bruises, burns and scars covering his thin, malnourished body. The second one was of the room Neal had been held in, the chains still hanging on the wall. The third was Neal's wrists, the raw, bloody sores that had been caused by the manacles he had on for a month. Peter pointed at the first one. "You did this to him," he said, his voice almost a growl.

Ritter smiled as he looked at the pictures, eyes shining with pride. "Yes, I did." He felt no remorse for the pain that he had inflicted on Neal - worse, he was proud of what he did. The thought burned at Peter's insides.

"You know, I tried many tactics - psychological torture, physical torture, starvation, sleep deprivation, sense deprivation," Ritter continued, speaking like he was talking about something fascinating. "He lasted longer than most of my subjects before he lost that light in his eyes."

Subject, like Neal had been just some lab rat, something to test his twisted ways of torturing, finding how to make someone tell him everything, not caring about the shell of a person that he left afterwards.

"That one had spunk, let me tell you. Oh, he tried to be brave at the beginning, tried to act like what I was doing to him was nothing, but I could see past that. He was such a smart-mouth at first, but he gave up on the hero act once I got out my special tools. He wasn't so brave after that." He laughed while looking to the side like he was remembering some fond memory.

Peter never wanted to kill a man more than he did right then, but resisted, just barely. "You held him for a month. Did you really think that you'd get information out of him eventually?" Peter asked, not sure what the answer would be, or if he wanted to hear it.

"Everyone breaks, it's just a matter of time. I could tell your boy was close. If I was given just a little more time, I would have gotten him to tell me all of his dirty little secrets. And I bet that he has his fair share," he said, confident that he would've been able to break Neal eventually.

"If you weren't getting him to talk, why didn't you just get information from someone else?" Peter asked, not that he wanted anyone else to suffer.

"My client was very specific when they said that they wanted Caffrey to tell me everything. I think it had something to do with betrayal of the people around him - and Eli and his cute little girl, of course. But it wasn't my business, so I didn't pry," he said, the complete hypocrite. From the sound of it, the man that hired Ritter sounded almost as depraved as him.

Peter leaned in close, wanting to savor the look in Ritter's eyes when he heard what Peter had to say. "Neal never knew where Eli Fetcher was. You're going to spend the rest of your miserable life rotting in prison for torturing a man that didn't even know the information that you wanted," he said, waiting for Ritter's smile to disappear, but it never did. If anything, it grew.

"I've been in the business of acquiring information for many years now and one thing that I've learned was that someone doesn't come back from something like that," he said, then made a spinning motion with his finger next to his head, the chain of the handcuffs clanking together as he moved. "It messes with the mind, makes 'em go a little crazy. He'll be looking over his shoulder the rest of his life. That's of course assuming that he doesn't take his own life first," he finished almost conversationally, spotlighting a fear that had been in the back of Peter's mind. He pushed it back to that dark corner of his mind, knowing there was no point to fear it until Neal started showing signs.

"You really don't care about going to prison for the rest of your life? No perks, no protection?" Peter asked, trying to get the man to change his mind.

Ritter shook his head, his face not showing any fear. "I'll take on whatever life throws at me. I do not fear death."

"This is your last chance, Ritter," Peter warned. The man's name felt bitter and disgusting in his mouth.

Ritter just leaned back again, smug smile on his face.

Not seeing another way to convince him to talk, Peter gathered the pictures and walked toward the door. If he stayed much longer he definitely was going to kill the bastard.

"A car battery and jumper cables made him scream the loudest," Ritter said right before Peter reached the door. Against his better judgment, Peter turned back around. It wasn't surprising to see that sick smile on the psycho's face. "He may be alive, but it doesn't mean he survived. Remember that the next time he stares off into space. He's going to relive that month for the rest of his life."

Peter was surprised when the glass door and walls didn't break by how hard he slammed the door shut. He was even more surprised that he had enough willpower to leave Ritter breathing.

After hearing everything that Ritter had to say, Peter felt that he needed a drink, or something to punch, or shoot. There was so much anger inside of him that it felt like he was going to burst. He couldn't go back home now - he'd just snap at Elizabeth or Neal. No, he had to stay away from them for a little bit, just until he had his emotions under control again.

The shooting range sounded the best right then to Peter, so he grabbed his gun from his desk and went to the indoor shooting range in the basement.

Chapter Text

Neal had woken with a start not too long after he fell asleep, images from his dream and memories of that month still flashing behind his eyes, still haunting him. The pain, confusion, fear, helplessness were swirling around his head, making it impossible to relax let alone fall back to sleep. He'd been able to push those memories to the back of his mind before, but those emotions he felt during that long month came back whenever Peter wasn't there. And Peter wasn't there. Peter was late.

He'd said that he'd be home as soon as he could, but it's been four hours and he still wasn't home. Not that Neal was panicking or anything - he was just a little worried that Peter was in trouble or something. Or maybe he was avoiding coming home because he didn't want to deal with his clingy CI. Was he just a burden to the agent? Should he just leave and let Peter and Elizabeth go back to their white picket fence life? Men like Neal didn't get that kind of life, so why was he here, in their beautiful home? It was wrong, he didn't belong here. But where would he go? 'He' might be able to get Neal if he left, so maybe it'd be best if he stayed for the time being, just until he knew it was safe to go home. He'd let the Burke's be then.

Maybe he should have offered to go with Peter, to help him catch the bad guys. He might've been able to help. He probably would've gotten in the way though. Neal would've been safe as long as Peter was there, but would Peter have wanted him to be there? Is that why he left? To get away from him? Neal didn't blame him. Neal would have wanted to get away from himself as well, if it were possible.

Neal had thought that he was doing a pretty good job at not showing that he was close to freaking out, but Elizabeth seemed to see it because she went and got Peter's pillow from their bed and gave it to him. The pillow smelt like Peter and safety and home and safety. The ex-conman held it close to his chest and breathed in the scent that meant everything was going to be okay, even if it wasn't. It helped a lot, but it wasn't Peter. And Peter wasn't here, keeping him safe from 'Him.' Because Peter was late. Why was Peter late?

Neal knew he was getting worked up again, but he couldn't stop himself from spiraling to the 'dark place' as Mozzie had called it when Neal had been grief stricken over loosing Kate. The TV show that Elizabeth turned on was completely ignored as Neal thought of what would happen if Peter didn't come back.

"Maybe we should call him again. You know how he gets distracted and forgets to look at the clock," Elizabeth suggested, taking Neal away from his dark thoughts for a moment.

Neal nodded, then smiled gratefully when she handed him the house phone. Neal held the phone and pressed redial with slightly shaking hands. Five rings later, Peter's pre-recorded voice, once again, informed him that the agent didn't answer. He had lost count of how many times he had heard that message. He hung up with a sigh of defeat.

Elizabeth put a hand on Neal's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. He stiffened at first, but he told himself that she wasn't someone to fear. It worked, mostly. The hand was nice and warm, but it wasn't Peter's. Because Peter wasn't home. Neal held Peter's pillow closer to himself as he looked out the window, wanting to know the moment Peter got back.

WCWCWCWC

Two hours and about forty paper shooting targets that Peter had imagined were Ritter later, Peter had calmed down to the point where it'd be safe to return home. He wasn't as accurate as he usually was, but his anger had caused his hands to shake a little.

It was way past dark by the time Peter got home, but the lights were still on in the house. "Peter!" Peter heard Neal call the moment he walked through his front door. Neal was right at the door, looking so excited for Peter to be home that the agent wondered for a second if Satchmo and him had switched bodies. But that wasn't the only emotion that was swirling around in the younger man's blue eyes. Neal was concerned. Why?

"Are you okay? Did something happen? Why weren't you answering your phone?" Neal asked, his questions coming out so fast that they almost overlapped. The kid looked like he wanted to cling to Peter and never let go, but he didn't grab for Peter, much to the agents surprise.

"Hey, Neal. Sorry that I was gone longer than expected. I'm fine. Are you okay?" he asked, suddenly wondering if Neal should be up at all.

Neal nodded, though a little shakily. "I'm okay now, but you can't just leave for hours, Peter! You weren't answering your phone," he repeated, like it was really important.

"Yeah, I had to silence it when I went to the shooting range," Peter said, then wished he could take back his words when he realized that he had to explain them now.

Neal's brow furrowed. "Why were you at the shooting range?"

Peter sighed as he took off his jacket and hung it up. "I went to talk to Ritter," he said, not answering the question.

"Ritter...?" Neal asked, prompting Peter to elaborate. Only then did Peter think that maybe Neal had never even known Ritter's name. That explained why he had been referring to the man as 'Him.'

"He's the man that, uh, that held you," Peter said a little awkwardly, not wanting to word it wrong. Now Peter realized why Hughes had trouble saying it earlier in the day.

Neal's eyes widen in realization, fear coming across his face for a moment, then he nodded. "Why did you go talk to him?" he asked after a moment.

"I was trying to get him to talk, but he wasn't cooperating," Peter said, trying not to tell Neal too much.

Neal nodded again, his eyes avoiding Peter's. Peter guessed that he was trying to hide his emotions.

"Maybe you should sit down," Peter suggested, seeing that it looked like a strong breeze could knock Neal over. Peter helped Neal to the couch, then turned as he heard Elizabeth come into the room. They greeted with a quick kiss and a 'hey, hon,' from each of them. The husband and wife had always been good at communicating with each other non-verbally, so Peter could see that Elizabeth's eyes were telling him that she wanted to talk to him alone.

"Neal, I gotta talk to El real quick, then I'll be back, okay?" Peter asked, trying not to sound like he was talking to a child.

Neal looked up at Peter, his eyes showing barely-contained panic at the thought of Peter leaving again so soon.

"We're just going to the dining room. You'll be able to see me the whole time," Peter reassured him.

Neal considered Peter's offer for a minute, then nodded, though reluctantly. He grabbed a pillow that was on the couch and held it to his chest.

Peter patted Neal's shoulder, the younger man leaning into the touch, then walked into the dining room with his wife. "I'm sorry I was gone so long, but after I talked with Ritter..." Peter trailed off. Remembering what Ritter had said was making his fists clench, so he pushed those thoughts away.

"Did you get anywhere with him?" Elizabeth asked.

Peter just shook his head, frustrated. Wanting to make sure Neal was still okay, Peter looked over Elizabeth's shoulder to see him, his eyes landing on a pillow that was in the younger man's hands that looked really familiar. "Why is my pillow down here?" Peter asked Elizabeth, confused that she used his pillow instead of one from the guest bedroom.

"He woke up from a really bad nightmare and I thought your scent would help ground him. He was holding onto it until you showed up. It definitely helped more than he wanted to show."

"Oh," Peter said, not really sure what else to say. 'Leave it to Elizabeth to think of my scent to help keep Neal calm,' Peter thought. He really hoped this whole separation anxiety thing wasn't going to get to the point where he'd have to bring the kid to the bathroom with him. He was going to have to talk to El about having Neal see a therapist or something before that happened. Not that he expected Neal to willingly see someone without a lot of persuading.

"How was he while I was gone?" Peter asked, not sure what the answer would be.

Elizabeth sighed. "He slept for a little bit, but I could see that after he woke from that nightmare he wasn't going to fall asleep again any time soon. I tried to distract him with TV, and like I said, the pillow helped, but he got more worked up the longer you were gone. He's been looking out the window for the last hour, waiting for you to come home," she explained, sadness clear in her voice.

"I'm sorry, hon..." he said again, then trailed off as he wiped his face with his hand tiredly.

"I'm not the one you need to apologize to," she said, then looked pointedly at Neal. "I'm going to walk Satch," she said, loud enough for Neal and the yellow lab to hear. Hearing his name and walk in the same sentence, Satchmo bounded to the back door, tail wagging and ready to go on a walk. Elizabeth grabbed his leash, hooked it to Satchmo's collar and went out the back door, leaving Peter to talk to Neal.

Peter sighed, then walked over to the couch and sat down next to Neal. Neal had looked up when he heard Peter coming over, all of his attention on the agent now. Peter could see that Neal was struggling to put his impartial mask back on, but there were deep cracks in it.

"Hey, I'm sorry that I was gone so long. If I have to be gone longer than expected next time, I'll make sure to call, okay?" Peter said, then let his hand rest on Neal's. It was obviously a bad idea to leave Neal for so long, but it would've been even worse if the agent had come home as angry as he was after he talked to Ritter.

Neal didn't seem to like the idea of Peter having to leave again, but nodded anyway. He turned his hand palm-up so he could grip the agents hand. "Okay."

The walls that Neal had built around his heart - probably long ago - that Peter had wanted to penetrate for so long were finally coming down, but not the way that either of them thought they would. Now that his defenses were down, Peter felt like he was seeing a side of Neal that the younger man never wanted him to see. For some strange reason, Neal seemed to want everyone - especially Peter, it seemed - to think that he was unstoppable, perfect, like his kidnapping was something that he could just brush off. After being seen in that small, dirty room, Neal probably feared that that superhuman image would never come back. Peter wasn't sure that it ever would, not completely.

"You don't need to go anywhere for a while, right?" Neal asked quietly, looking far too afraid of what the answer might be.

Peter shook his head. "No, I don't have any place to be but here," he reassured the younger man.

Neal smiled in relief, then settled into the couch more, finally letting himself relax. Peter leaned back as well, letting his shoulders touch the younger man's beside him.

Peter studied Neal for a moment before speaking up. "How are you doing, Neal?"

"I'm fine," Neal said quietly, not looking at Peter.

"I'd be even more worried if that were true," Peter said, making Neal lock eyes with the agent, looking surprised. What Neal said next was not expected.

"Why did you bring me here? Why are you helping me?" he asked, looking confused and completely serious.

"Why wouldn't I help you, Neal?" Peter asked instead of answering.

Neal turned away, looking ashamed and a little lost.

"Neal?" Peter said when he didn't think the younger man would answer.

When Neal finally spoke, his voice was so quiet that Peter had to strain to hear it. "He told me that he took me because I wouldn't be missed, that anyone looking for me would just want to throw me back in jail if they found me, said I was just a criminal and I was barely worth looking for. I think...at that point, if I knew where Fetcher was at, that I might've given in, just to make the pain stop, to make it all go away. He would've killed me if I told him, but it would've been okay, because then the pain would've stopped...But it never stopped." He shook his head, a tear falling down his face.

Peter was pretty sure if his heart could break again, it would have right when Neal said those anguished words. If Neal had said that before Peter had seen Ritter, the man would not have survived his visit. He wrapped his arm around the smaller man's shoulders. Neal leaned into the touch, much to Peter's relief. "You know he was just trying to manipulate you, Neal," he said, not sure what else to say.

"You'd thought I ran," Neal said, but there wasn't very much heat behind it, not like there should have been. There was more sadness than anything.

Peter nodded in reluctant agreement, knowing it'd be wrong to lie to Neal. "It was one of my theories, but I knew you didn't when I saw you-" Peter immediately stopped his words when Neal tensed and his breath hitched. Peter pulled him closer and started rubbing his arm. "Hey, it's okay. It's okay. I'm here for you because I'm your friend and I'm not letting you go," Peter said, answering Neal's previous question.

Neal nodded into Peter's shoulder, his fresh tears warm on the agents shoulder. Neal was gripping Peter's shirt like it was the only thing that could save him. Peter was not good with crying, but he tried his best to comfort his friend.

"I tried to not let him get to me, but all of the mind tricks and...everything else...was just too much. After a while I couldn't figure out what was true and what was a lie. Still don't really think I know," Neal said, his voice thick.

"You're loved and cared for, Neal - don't forget that. There aren't many people that I'd let cry on my shoulder without calling in reinforcements, so that's saying something." That got a little snort of laughter out of Neal, so Peter continued. "There are so many people that love you - me, Mozzie, June, Elizabeth. Even Jones and Diana care about you, though they show it differently. And don't tell him I told you, but Hughes cares about you a lot more than he lets on."

"Really?" Neal asked, sounding hopeful and doubtful at the same time. His voice was now muffled by Peter's shoulder, but the agent could still tell that he was crying less than before.

Peter smiled for a moment. "Yeah, buddy. We all care about you." Peter continued to hold Neal and rub his arm while the younger man calmed down. Elizabeth was much better at the emotions thing, but she was gone and wouldn't be back for a while.

Eventually, Neal sat up. "Sorry," he said, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand. He looked ashamed again.

"You don't need to apologize," Peter said. Neal nodded, seeming to accept Peter's words.

Neal was looking straight ahead, but Peter could tell by the haunted look in his eyes that he was remembering something that had happened to him. The words that Ritter spoke involuntarily came to Peter's mind. He may be alive, but it doesn't mean he survived. Remember that the next time he stares off into space. He's going to relive that month for the rest of his life. Peter knew that Ritter said that to mess with him, but could he be right? It was a terrifying thought.

"You know, I almost escaped once, at the beginning," Neal eventually said, almost whispering. "Didn't make it very far before..." he trailed off, not wanting to speak of his hellish memories. He was looking at his leg and Peter guessed that that was when Ritter had broken it. It would have made it much harder for Neal to escape if his leg was broken. It was a tactical decision, to cripple Neal so it was easier to keep him there. Peter never knew that he could feel so much anger and hate towards one person, but he was now.

"I broke. Maybe not in the way Ri-" Neal stopped and swallowed thickly. "Maybe not the way he wanted me to, but I did break," Neal said, shaking his head. "I don't know if I can go back to being the man I was before. He took that away from me." His hands were shaking in his lap.

"Hey, look at me, Neal. Look at me," Peter ordered in a kind but stern voice as he took one of Neal's hands. Neal looked up at Peter, a deep pain in his eyes that the agent wished more than anything that he could get rid of. "You think that you lost your humanity because of what happened to you, but you survived because of your humanity," he said firmly, then lowered his voice. "You're stronger than the man that tried to take that away from you ever could be."

Neal looked like he desperately wanted to believe what Peter said, but was hesitant to do so. The impact that Ritter had on Neal's outlook on what other people thought of him was heartbreaking. "I'm not as strong as you seem to think I am," Neal said sadly. "I begged him to kill me, to just stop. I couldn't take the pain. I was weak. I am weak."

Your boy is weak. He may be alive, but it doesn't mean he survived. If that was what Ritter said to Peter, what could he have had said to Neal during that month? What did he make him believe? It was another terrifying thought.

"You're not weak, Neal. You survived. You're a fighter, and as stubborn as they come," Peter said, gaining a small smile from the other man. "If you want to become the man you were before, you can be."

Neal still looked unsure, but less so now. It was something, Peter supposed.

Neal's eyes closed for a second before he forced them back open. He looked as exhausted as Peter felt. "You know what, it's getting late. We should start getting ready for bed," Peter said, patting Neal's leg.

Once Elizabeth and Satchmo got back from their walk, Elizabeth and Peter helped Neal change the bandages on his wrists. Elizabeth didn't actually touch Neal, but she instructed Peter on what to do. Handling Neal's wrists - especially the left one - was difficult and no doubt painful, but they got through it eventually.

Neal hadn't been complaining about being in any pain, but he took some pain medication when Peter gave him some. It would make him sleepy, so Peter hoped that it would help him fall asleep in a strange bed. He had Peter's pillow to comfort while he slept as well. Peter didn't even try to take that away from him.

Peter didn't know how Neal would do with sleeping in a different room than Peter, but it wasn't like their bed had space for three. That'd be going a little too far anyway. Neal needed to start gaining independence and this was a good first step, Peter hoped.

Chapter Text

"Where is Eli Fetcher?" the man over Neal's quaking body asked, his voice the worst thing that Neal had ever heard, and the only thing he had heard in far too long.

"I don't know," Neal said, his voice pleading. Neal had lost count on how many times he had said those words. He didn't listen to what Neal said though - He never did.

The knife that was already slick with Neal's blood made its next cut on the young man's exposed stomach, causing him to cry out in pain. Even though Neal had done it a hundred times, he still pulled at the manacles that held him down. As expected, Neal's arms stayed flat on the table that he was lying on. He knew that the restraints around his ankles would be the same - there was no point in trying. He was trapped, he was never going to get out of there. Peter was his only hope, a hope that got dimmer every time they had a 'session.'

"There's no point in lying any longer, boy. The sooner you tell me, the sooner the pain will stop," He said, digging the knife deeper just to prove his point, causing a tear to roll down the side of Neal's face and land on the blood-slicked table.

The offer was so painfully tempting that Neal would have told Him everything if he knew the answer to his question and no one else would get hurt. But Eli and his daughter would get hurt - they'd die. Neal wouldn't let that happen even if he could. He'd wait for Peter to save him, just like he always did.

"Where is he?" the man asked again, this time with more anger in his voice.

"I don't know," Neal repeated, knowing that that answer would never be the right one.

The man sighed, looking a little annoyed. "You know how this works, Neal. The rag and water is next," He said, his voice chiding more than threatening, like he was a disappointed parent. Neal stopped himself from thinking of the man like that - Peter was the only person that Neal had considered to be his parent, at least the only one in a long while. Neal didn't want Him to be associated with Peter at all. Peter was practically the definition of good and strong and brave; He was evil and terrible and everything wrong with the world.

"Please, don't." Neal was not above begging anymore. He may have been at the beginning, but his strength and pride was long gone. He knew it wouldn't work - it never worked - but he prayed that just this one time He would listen and give Neal a break, just this once.

Neal nearly sobbed when He moved away to get the rag and bucket full of water. He placed the rag over Neal's face, covering his eyes, nose and mouth. The last thing Neal saw was His malicious smile. He couldn't see when the water would hit the rag and that was one of the worst parts.

Neal would have moved his head away, but He got a firm grip of Neal's hair to hold him still. The only thing Neal could do was hold his breath and wait. It wasn't the first time He had done this, but Neal didn't know if that was worse than not knowing, not knowing the feeling of almost drowning, of not being able to breathe, not being able to get any air in his lungs, only water. Water-boarding wasn't as much about the pain as is was about the terror it invoked. It awakens a primal instinct to get away from the thing that was killing you, but Neal couldn't move, couldn't get away.

Suddenly the water landed on the rag on Neal's face, ice cold and terrifying. The rag quickly became soaked and stuck to Neal's face. Neal held his breath for as long as he could, but his lungs soon screamed at him to breathe. He knew he would only breathe in water, but couldn't stop himself from inhaling. Water immediately entered Neal's mouth and he bucked and struggled to get away from the iron-clad grip on his hair and suffocating water, even though he knew it was useless. He couldn't help but attempt to escape, even if he was farther hurting himself in the process.

He tried to say something, anything, to plead the man to stop, to tell him his every secret. Something, anything. He coughed and bucked and gagged, but the water just kept coming, kept drowning him. His whole being was screaming at him to fight, to get away, but he couldn't. He was strapped down to the table, completely at the mercy of a madman. It was the most terrifying thing that Neal had ever felt.

Finally after what felt like an eternity, He moved the rag off of Neal's face and let go of the younger man's hair. Neal immediately turned his head and coughed up the water that nearly drowned him. He coughed then breathed in much needed air before coughing more water out. After a minute, Neal let his head fall back onto the table, completely drained.

Neal laid there, panting and shivering as He stood over him, watching the young man struggle mentally and physically, absolutely no sympathy on his face. "You may think you're strong for holding out like this, but you're weak. That's why Agent Burke isn't coming - I did him a favor by taking you away from him. Sooner or later, you would've messed up enough that even Burke couldn't bail you out. He wouldn't even want to, because you're not worth it. You would have taken him down with you when you turned back to the life of crime that's been calling your name, telling you to come back to the dark side."

Neal pinched his eyes shut and willed himself to stop hearing what He was saying. He was lying, He was just trying to get in his head. Neal knew this, but it was getting harder and harder to deny the truth of the words. Peter was better off without Neal, without him messing everything up, ruining his life. It would've been only a matter of time before Neal would've done something stupid enough to earn a one-way ticket back to jail, and Peter would've been punished for trusting a lying, thieving conman to go straight. He would become a fool amongst his peers and it would be all Neal's fault. Neal didn't deserve Peter to save him. He wasn't worth it.

"I can see you're finally accepting the truth," He said, happiness clear in his voice. "It's better this way, Neal. You don't deserve Peter's love and trust. He's a good, honest man, and you're nothing but a conman that will never go straight and will always destroy everything good that enters your life."

"No," Neal whimpered as he shook his head. It wasn't true. There were people that loved him, people that cared about him. Peter, Mozzie, June, Elizabeth. He was lying.

"It's the truth, Neal," He said. "The sooner you realize that, the better off everyone will be. You're nothing but a cancer to those around you, killing their happiness and hope of a normal life. Death follows you around like a shadow, a curse. Its claimed the life of your beloved Kate, nearly killed you quirky friend Mozzie. How long until noble Peter Burke or his beautiful wife falls victim to the disease that you are?"

Neal finally gave into the urge to sob. How did He even know about Kate and Mozzie and Peter and Elizabeth? How did He know that Neal blamed himself for Kate's death and Mozzie's shooting? This man seemed to know more about Neal than he did himself. Was everything He said a lie, or was Neal finally hearing the truth after all the lies he had told himself to get through the day?

"Tell me where Eli is and your friends can be safe from you and your curse. All of that guilt you're feeling can go away. You'll be at peace and your friends will be safe," He said, his voice almost soothing.

"I don't know where he is," Neal whispered, looking into the cold eyes of his torturer, silently begging him to listen, to have mercy.

"You're a conman, so I expect you to lie, but not to protect people you don't really even know," He said, looking confused, but then he just shrugged. "Oh, well. I wanted to try out my new picana electrica I got from some of my Argentinean friends anyway," He said, shrugging off Neal's stubborn urge to protect a near stranger. Neal didn't know what a picana electrica was, but it sounded undoubtedly painful.

The man left the room for a minute and Neal savored the moment of light and freedom he saw when He opened the door. And he savored the solitude, the peace, even more. He knew that it'd only last a minute, but it was the best part of Neal's day. Or night. Neal had no idea what time it might've been, or how long he had been there.

Too soon, He came back in, pushing a cart that had buttons and nobs on top of it. The thing that really caught Neal's attention, though, was the wand that was attached to it, the wand that was in His hand. Neal now knew what He had brought into the room. The realization made Neal swallow hard and wish for oblivion.

"I have to admit, I've never used this before, so it'll be a new experience for the both of us," He said as he rolled the cart up next to the table that Neal was lying on and flipped a switch. The machine hummed to life and Neal's heart-rate sped up even more at the deceptively innocuous sound.

He brought the wand close to Neal's face, a smile on his own face. "This lovely device sends low-level electric shocks to the subject to inflict the worst amount of pain possible without killing them. It's brilliant, if you ask me," He explained, talking like he was discussing the most interesting thing. Neal didn't want to hear it though. He didn't want to hear anything anymore. "Even better, since you're wet from our last exercise, it'll make things even more fun."

Neal would have turned his head away if he thought it would be any help. But it would've only made it so Neal wouldn't be able to know when He started the 'fun.'

"Now, let's try it out, shall we?" He said, but didn't wait for an answer before pressing the tip of the wand on Neal's exposed stomach and letting the electricity corse through the younger man's body. A scream got caught in Neal's throat when the pain was so much more worse than he expected. The agony Neal was feeling made him attempt to curl into himself, but the restraints prevented him from that minor comfort.

After what seemed like forever, He stopped the onslaught of pain. Neal panted, his ears ringing loud enough that he couldn't hear what He was saying. It was the best news that Neal had gotten all day.

Too soon, the ringing went away, only to be replaced by His voice. "Come on, I want to hear you scream, boy," He said, then pressed the wand against Neal's chest.

Not even bothering to hold back, Neal screamed, a loud, agonized sound that sounded almost feral. Neal didn't know if He turned up the volume or not, but it seemed like this shock was even more agonizing.

Neal let his eyes close in sheer exhaustion when the electricity stopped again. He didn't think that the pain he had been in before the picana electrica came into the equation would possibly be a relief, but it was, somehow. That pain was still too much for him to handle. When would this hell be over? When would he have peace? Neal didn't care how he got it anymore, he just wanted - needed - peace, needed it to be over.

Neal heard movement, so he pried open his eyes to see that He had leaned in close, his breath hot on Neal's chilled skin. "Do you you wish for death, boy?" He whispered in Neal's ear.

Neal didn't want to say it, but it was undeniable. It was the only thing he wanted anymore, the only thing he could think of - to be spared from this pain, this fear, this utter despair.

Neal looked into the eyes of the man that could give him the relief he so desperately wanted. "Yes...Please...k-kill me. P-Please," he sobbed, not afraid of death anymore if it meant blissful oblivion.

He shook his head almost sadly. "I can't do that until you tell me where Eli is," He said, the offer so, so tempting, but impossible to give.

"I-I don't know..." Neal said, desperate for that answer to be the right one for once. But it never was. "Please." Neal didn't know what he was begging for anymore - death, life, freedom from this torture. His pleas would never be answered, but it was the only thing he could do - ask for mercy from a merciless man.

Neal knew when He brought down the wand again that his prayers would never be answered. He was going to die a slow, painful death in the hands of a monster. Peter wouldn't make it in time, if he was even bothering to look for a useless conman that wasn't even worth it. This realization hit Neal harder than the next wave of electricity that coursed through his body.

WCWCWCWC

Peter woke to a kick in the thigh. "Hon, it's your turn," Elizabeth said sleepily, referring to Satchmo needing out. Peter doubted it was really his turn, but didn't bother arguing with his wife. He got out of bed and brought the stubborn, doe-eyed lab down stairs. He shouldn't have been surprised to see Neal sitting at the dining room table, nursing a glass of amber liquid. Peter was relieved to see that it was apple juice and not something alcoholic. With all of the medication that the kid was taking, that would have been a really bad idea.

Peter walked by Neal, who was also surprised, to let Satchmo out, then came back and leaned against the back of a chair on the opposite side of the table as Neal.

Peter's first instinct was to yell at Neal, to tell him that he could have hurt himself trying to get down the stairs by himself, but he stopped himself. "How did you get down here?" he asked instead.

"Determination, mostly."

"Maybe a little bit of stubbornness," Peter suggested with a little smile.

"Maybe a little," Neal conceded with a smile of his own. It was one of the first real smiles that Peter had seen on Neal's face since he was rescued, and it was a wonderful sight.

"What drew you down here then? Was it the delicious apple juice we have?" Peter said as he pointed at the glass that Neal had in front of him.

Neal laughed a little, looking down at his drink. "No. I couldn't sleep."

"Nightmares?" Peter asked softly.

Neal nodded without looking up. His hands started shaking, so he hid them under the table, but not before Peter saw them.

"How long have you been down here?" Peter asked, starting to feel like an FBI agent questioning a suspect. Peter didn't let himself think of it like questioning a victim. No, not a victim, a survivor.

Neal shrugged. "I don't know. An hour I guess," he said, then coughed into the hollow of his arm. Peter could tell by the way his face tightened and held his abdomen that it was painful for him to cough. Neal had been taking the right medication to combat the pneumonia he had, but he still had a ways to go before he'd be better.

Peter saw that Neal's glass was empty, so he went into the kitchen to get Neal some more apple juice to help with the coughing. He also got himself a drink as well, then came back and sat down in the chair he had been leaning against. Satchmo was going to have to re-sniff everything in the backyard anyway, so he might as well get comfortable.

"Thanks," Neal said when Peter gave him the glass of apple juice, his voice a little rough from the coughing. "I was planning on going back to bed soon."

Peter nodded. "I'll help you back up," he said, mostly so Neal didn't have to ask. The younger man had been forced to show far more vulnerabilities than he ever wanted to recently, so Peter thought it'd be nice to offer assistance instead of having him ask. The younger man looked grateful for that.

Soon Satchmo was back at the door and Peter let him in. The dog bounded back up the steps, apparently not waiting for Neal and Peter.

Because of his healing leg, Neal was limping a little, but the more he walked, the better it got. Before he left the hospital, the doctors were hopeful that he'd loose the limp completely with time. But it was still painful for him to walk, so Peter took it slow with Neal up the stairs and into the guest bedroom.

Because of his injuries, it took a minute for Neal to find a comfortable way to lay, but eventually he settled on sleeping on his side with Peter's pillow against his chest, hugging it tightly, if a bit shamefully. Once the younger man was settled in bed, Peter went back to his own bed and went to sleep, hoping Neal was able to do the same.

Chapter Text

Since Peter didn't have work that day, he had set his alarm for an hour after he would usually wake up. Elizabeth was still in bed as well when it went off being as she chose to work from home today so she could help take care of Neal. She made a little noise of discontentment, but just rolled over and shoved a pillow over her head.

Peter turned the alarm off and got out of bed, but didn't make it one step before he tripped over something on the floor, landing gracelessly on his face. The lump next to his bed grunted when he had tripped over it. Peter rolled over to see that the lump was Neal.

The kid was curled up on his side with no blanket covering him and shivering. He lifted his head and looked blearily at Peter, his hair a mess.

"Neal," Peter asked in an over-casual voice, "why are we on the floor?"

"I...I don't remember coming in here," Neal said, his voice thick with sleep and looking even more confused than Peter.

"You sleep-walked?" Peter asked, a little concerned. It seemed to be a common emotion Peter felt for Neal anymore.

"Uh, yeah, I guess," Neal said. "I don't remember coming in here, so I guess that makes sense."

Neal had sleep-walked into Peter's room to sleep on the floor next to the agents bed just so he could be close to him - Peter didn't really know how to feel about that, or how to handle it. Neal obviously couldn't sleep on the floor whenever his unconscious mind decides that he needs to be closer to Peter, but what could they do about it? There was no way that Peter would tie the kid to the bed or lock him in the other room or something just to keep him put. And Peter really didn't think that letting Neal sleep in their bed would be a good idea if he wanted to get Neal's independence back - not that him and Elizabeth even had any extra space for the ex-con. Peter hoped that Elizabeth would have a solution to their new problem because he wasn't coming up with anything.

"Are you okay?" Peter asked, belatedly wondering if he had hurt Neal when he tripped over him.

"Uh...yeah, I think so," Neal said, but he didn't sound too convinced.

Peter climbed to his feet then offered Neal a hand. Neal took it and was easily pulled to his feet by the stronger, larger man. Peter then checked him over, making sure he really was okay. Once it was determined that Neal hadn't sustained anymore injuries, Peter went to get clothes to shower, only to remember that Neal might need help with that.

Peter turned to Neal, who was watching the agent. "Neal, do you, uh, need...help showering?" Peter asked, quite awkwardly. It wasn't something that Peter wanted to help with, but if Neal needed help, then he'd help.

Neal smiled a little, apparently amused by Peter's embarrassed stuttering. It was nice to see a smile on a face that seemed to be made for them. "I think I can handle that, Peter." He held up his left hand, the one with the brace. "It's my left wrist that's broken."

"Yeah, okay. Try not to get that wet. And I'll help you with your bandages after that," Peter said, then watched Neal walk much slower and more carefully than usual so he didn't aggravate his injuries anymore than he had to. Peter imagined that the night Neal spent on the floor didn't do any favors to his already sore body.

Peter saw that Neal slowed down even more at the doorway and looked around a little warily before heading out into the hall. He was looking for threats, Peter realized with concern. Neal had always been aware of possible dangers around him, but his instincts were probably even more heightened now. Neal still had a long way to go before he would feel safe in even a safe environment. Definitely not for the first time, Peter's heart ached for the kid that didn't deserve what happened to him, what was still happening to him.

With a tried sigh, Peter turned and made his way to the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, Peter was showered, shaved and dressed. He came out of the bathroom and saw that Elizabeth had gotten out of bed. Judging by the smell of eggs and hash browns, Peter guessed that she was working on breakfast.

Peter found Neal in the guest bedroom, sitting on the bed with his back to the door. He had changed from his night clothes, but didn't have a shirt on so Peter could see the damage on his back. Peter tried not to think of how each bruise, cut and scar got there. Peter's talk with Ritter had given him way more insight about what happened to Neal in the last month than he ever wanted to hear, but the agent knew it had only been the tip of the iceberg.

Peter cleared his throat so Neal knew that he was there. Neal stiffened, then turned around, his damp hair falling in front of his eyes. He relaxed when he saw that it was Peter at the doorway.

"Hey," Neal said, then coughed for a minute. Peter winced a little when he heard how wet and painful they sounded, possibly even worse than last night. Peter made a mental note to make sure Neal took his medication after breakfast.

Once Neal stopped coughing, Peter helped change the bandages on his wrists. Elizabeth had showed Peter how to get the bandages on right, so he managed pretty well on his own. Peter also checked on the multiple cuts on Neal's body, some of which had stitches. The stitches seemed intact and there weren't any signs of infection, so Peter replaced the bandages on the bigger cuts, then got the kid a shirt and helped him down the stairs.

Just like Peter's nose had suspected, Elizabeth was in the kitchen making breakfast. Peter would've helped her, but him and Elizabeth decided long ago that he was hopeless in the kitchen. The only thing he was good at making was pot roast, and that wasn't something Neal could even have for a while. Eggs, toast and a cup of apple juice would have to do for now.

Neal and Peter sat at the kitchen table while Elizabeth made breakfast. Peter tried to read the morning paper, but Neal was strangely quiet and that concerned the agent. Back when things were more normal, Neal would've been chatting away about this or that and distracting Peter from his reading or helping Elizabeth cook. Now he was just sitting there quietly with a trace of that haunted look on his face. Peter tried to get Neal to talk, but all of his responses were as short as possible and there were no follow-up questions or comments. It was all a big sign that things were not how they were supposed to be.

Elizabeth finished cooking and brought the food to the table that Peter had made up. Peter and Elizabeth got to eat hash browns as well as the eggs and toast, but had opted not to cook up any bacon so the smell didn't tempt Neal to want any. Greasy foods were not on the menu for him for a while.

Neal didn't talk at all, didn't comment on anything that Peter and Elizabeth discussed. He was eating slowly, but soon stopped altogether. He was just looking at his eggs when a few tears fell from his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. Peter looked to Elizabeth for an explanation as to why Neal suddenly started crying, but she looked just as confused as he did.

"Neal," Peter said softly. Neal didn't do anything other than continue to cry silently. "Neal," Peter repeated, louder this time.

Neal's breath hitched and his hands started shaking. Peter reached out and touched Neal's shoulder in an attempt to ground the scared man. Unfortunately Neal was still lost in his memories.

"I don't know!" Neal yelled, his voice cracking as he flinched away from Peter's touch. It was the first time Neal had responded negatively to the agents touch while awake. Though Peter suspected that Neal was not fully conscious to his surroundings, of who was touching him.

Then he was out of his chair and up the stairs before Peter or Elizabeth could figure out what happened.

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He was given scrambled eggs again. He hated scrambled eggs - hated the taste, hated the smell, hated what they meant. Neal knew that the moment that he was finished eating, the pain and questions would come again, so he ate slowly. He was so tired of the pain. He just wanted it all to end.

Neal hadn't even finished eating when he was touched on the shoulder. The touches were always painful, but for some unknown reason, this one wasn't. He didn't let himself be fooled though - the next one would be.

"I don't know!" Neal shouted, repeating what he always said to the man. He never listened though - never.

He could never get away from Him, but he couldn't help but try. Despite past experiences, Neal was able to get away from Him and his painful touches. Neal didn't waste any time by questioning the small miracle. He pushed himself out of the chair he was sitting in and ran toward the stairs. If he remembered correctly, then he was in a basement and stairs would lead him to the surface, to freedom.

Neal could hear footsteps behind him, so he ran in the second - always second, never first. He'd expect the first - doorway he saw and shut the door as quietly as he could, his heart pounding erratically in his chest. He put a nearby chair under the knob of the door in an attempt to keep Him out when he realized where Neal was.

Neal turned around to quickly scan his surroundings. He was in a bedroom, a nice looking one, but the only thing Neal focused on was the window. He rushed over to it and looked out the glass that was keeping him from the outside. His heart sank when he saw what was outside of it. He was on the second floor - that didn't make sense. Why was he on the second floor?

"Neal?" Neal heard Him say, his voice muffled by the door. He was right outside, Neal realized with pure dread. He was saying something else, but Neal blocked it out while he focused back on the window. He really doubted that he could make it to the ground without farther hurting himself, but he had to try.

Neal tried to open the window, but his hands were shaking so bad and he was so weak that he couldn't get it open. He couldn't get the window open. The man was banging on the door, trying to get in. He would be inside any second. Neal let out a little sob as the reality of the situation hit him full-force. He was going back to that room. He was never getting out of there. The questions and pain would never end.

Neal knew it was cowardly and pointless, but he crawled under the nearby bed as far as he could go, ignoring the pain the action caused. The man finally got through the door and walked in. Neal could see His bare feet as he walked around the room. In would only be a matter of time before He figured out where Neal was hiding. Neal had to cover his mouth to hold back another sob.

"Neal, it's me, Peter. I'm not here to hurt you, bud," a voice that sounded like heaven, like salvation, like safety, said. Was that really Peter? Or was He playing a trick on him? Or was in his own mind that was betraying him? Neal was too afraid to find out.

The bare feet were right in front of the bed now. He got down on his hands and knees and looked under the bed, but Neal had to look away so he didn't see those evil, merciless eyes. "Neal, I'm not going to hurt you. Can you come out from under the bed, please? My knees aren't what they used to be."

That voice sounded so much like Peter that Neal had to look back, just in case his prayers were finally answered. Neal nearly sobbed again when he saw that it was Peter. His savior, his protector.

"Peter!" Neal said with obvious happiness and relief in his voice. He crawled out from under the bed and hugged the older man, melting into his warm embrace. But then he thought of something terrible and pulled away. "W-wait. D-did he get you too?" Oh, God, Peter was trapped with him. Who was going to save them now? What was He going to do to Peter? Peter didn't know anything either! He wouldn't listen though. He never listened - never.

"No, Neal. He's not here and you're safe. We're both safe," Peter said, his voice both soothing and firm.

That didn't make sense. They were in that place and He was...Neal took another look around the room. It didn't look anything like the place that He had been holding Neal. The room was nice and homey looking, like a place that Neal so desperately wanted to be.

"W-we're safe?" Neal asked, skeptical but willing to listen to Peter.

Peter nodded. "Yes, Neal. We're safe."

Peter said that they were safe, so it must've been true. Neal hugged Peter again, holding him close. "I thought...I thought," Neal said, not able to really say anything. It seemed so real, like he was really back there, in that hell. But now that he was thinking about it, he did remember that he was at the Burke's, safe from the dangers of the outside world, safe from Him.

"I know, bud, but it was just your mind playing tricks on you. You're safe now," Peter soothed, his voice like a balm to Neal's troubled soul. "Let's go back downstairs, okay?" Peter said after Neal had pulled himself together a little more, Peter's contact having helped more than anything else.

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Peter got Neal settled on the couch and once again took the younger man's hand in his own. Peter knew he needed to not let Neal hold his hand too much so he didn't rely on Peter's presence as much, but the agent just couldn't take that comfort away from the kid right now, not when he just had a terrifying flashback.

"What do you think triggered the flashback, Neal?" Peter asked, not really wanting to bring up the incident, but needing to find the reason why it happened so it didn't happen ever again.

Neal's gaze immediately went to the dining room table where the food still sat, neglected and probably cold by now.

"The food?" Peter asked, sounding a little confused. It seemed like a strange thing to trigger a flashback, but Peter didn't really know much about triggers or flashbacks.

Neal nodded, the action timid. The younger man was tense and had not so subtly leaned toward Peter while keeping the grip on Peter's hand tight and unwavering even though his own hand shook. Neal's current behavior and whole demeanor was making Peter worry about Neal having been set back in his recovery. He was acting a lot like he did when he was in the hospital - like there was a monster around every corner and Peter was the only one that could keep them away. Peter wondered if Neal was even more scared than before, or if he just didn't have the energy or will to keep his 'everything is just fine' façade up anymore. Peter didn't know which one would be worse.

"What part of it? Or was it all of it?" Peter asked, wanting to isolate the problem to one thing if possible.

"The eggs," Neal said, his voice even more timid than his body language.

"Why did the eggs cause that?" Peter asked a little hesitantly, not wanting to push Neal.

Neal swallowed hard. "H-he used to give me them," Neal said, his voice a little unsteady. Then he shrugged, the movement small and very un-Neal like. "I-I don't know, I guess I thought the questions would start after I finished eating."

Peter's heart ached for Neal once again. The horrific ordeal was supposed to be over, but Neal was still reliving it through nightmares and flashbacks. It was completely unfair and made Peter want to punch something - no, someone - the bastard that crushed Neal's confidence and happiness like a soda can.

Peter pulled Neal closer, the younger man immediately accepting the comfort by leaning on Peter's shoulder. "You're safe, Neal. You don't have to eat the eggs, okay?" Peter said softly into Neal's ear. Neal nodded, his dark, wavy hair tickling Peter's neck.

Peter guessed by the way Neal was relaxing that he would have easily been able to fall asleep right them and there, but the younger man still needed to take his medication before then. "You need to eat a little bit more so you can take your medication," Peter said after a minute. "Would toast be okay?"

Neal sat up and nodded, leaning against the back of the couch now but still holding Peter's hand and staying close to him. Elizabeth, who was sitting in a nearby chair and watching the scene with motherly concern, headed for the kitchen before Peter could even ask her to get Neal some toast.

Elizabeth came back a minute later with a piece of buttered toast and some apple juice. Neal nodded his thanks and ate the toast slowly, eating the crust first then the middle. Elizabeth left again to get the medication that Neal needed to take.

After Neal finished taking the handful of medication, he started coughing again. When Neal's breathing didn't even out after he stopped, Peter got a little concerned.

"Are you breathing okay?" Peter asked, sounding a lot like a concerned father to his own ears.

Neal tried to say something, but another round of coughing stopped him. Peter looked closer and saw that Neal was sweating a little. The agent felt Neal's forehead for a fever. He was definitely warm.

"What's wrong? Can you breathe okay?" Peter asked once Neal stopped coughing. "Don't talk if you think it'll make you cough again. Just shake or nod your head."

Neal nodded. "Good," Peter said, relieved that they didn't have to try to get Neal to go back to the hospital. That would have undoubtedly been a fight.

"El, could you get a cool washcloth, please?" Peter asked, concerned about Neal's apparent fever. Peter would have gotten up to help Elizabeth instead of asking her to do everything, but the grip Neal had on his hand didn't seem to be letting up any time soon. She didn't seem to mind though, probably happy to do something to help since Neal seemed to only want Peter's comfort.

"Here, lay on my lap," Peter said after he put a throw pillow on his lap. Neal didn't even hesitate, showing Peter how much he needed the comfort. He let Peter guide him onto the agents lap and stretched his legs out on the couch until he was laying on his back. Peter could feel that Neal was shivering so he pulled a blanket from the top of the couch and cover the ex-conman with it.

El came back with a cool washcloth and placed it on Neal's forehead. Neal moaned quietly, his eyes closing in contentment. It only took a few minutes for Neal to drift off, looking the most at peace that Peter had seen him all day.

Chapter Text

After Neal woke up he pretended that his ill reaction to the eggs never happened. Against both of their better judgments, Elizabeth and Peter went along with it. The three of them ate an eggless lunch, watched TV and never spoke of the events earlier in the day. Neal complained about watching sports until Peter gave up and switched over to another channel. Then Neal started complaining about the volume until Peter turned it down a little. It was just like it had been before Neal had been kidnapped, but Peter knew that things were not completely back to normal. Neal was trying to act normal, but Peter could tell that some of it was an act. At least it wasn't all an act. It was something, Peter supposed.

Elizabeth and Peter had talked in whispers while Neal had been sleeping and they decided to broach the subject of Neal seeing a psychiatrist sometime tomorrow. They weren't going to force him to go, but it was obvious that he needed help to get past his PTSD and separation anxiety somehow. They couldn't keep going like this - running into the problem of Neal getting upset every time Peter left or something triggering a flashback. Peter and Elizabeth were sympathetic to Neal's problems, but they also knew they needed to stop. Peter would go with Neal if that was what he'd want - which was likely. Anything to help Neal become Neal again.

The eggs were also thrown away while Neal had been sleeping. Peter worried about other things that might trigger flashbacks and what would happen if Neal had another one. Would Neal always try to run, or would he turn violent if he felt that his life was being threatened? Neal was not a violent man, but after everything he had gone through, Peter wouldn't be too surprised if Neal lashed out during a flashback. That was one of the reasons that Neal needed to see a psychiatrist - for his own safety and of others. Peter was just hoping it wouldn't be much of a fight when it came to convincing the younger man that he needed help.

WCWCWCWC

Neal tried to act normal, but the lingering fear was still in the back of his mind. Going from being on high-alert for possible dangers at all times to being safe was confusing and Neal struggled to not check his surroundings every few seconds. Neal put a façade up for Peter and Elizabeth's sake, but he was pretty sure they could tell he was still anxious. His kidnapping effected him more than he liked to admit. If Peter and Elizabeth could see his true emotions, then could everyone else too? No one else had really been around to see him like this, for this he was immensely thankful, but he'd have to go back to work some time. Hopefully it'd be after he pulled himself together, whenever that might be.

Neal hoped in vain that everything would go back to normal if he just acted like everything was the way it used to be. He just wanted to forget that month he spent away from his friends and life that he was slowly getting used to. He actually missed mortgage fraud cases and Hughe's scowl and Diana's playful arm punches that hurt more than he would ever admit. Thinking of normal things like that was what helped him get through that month, and he couldn't wait for them to come back. Peter hadn't mentioned when he was going back to work, but Neal figured it had to be soon being as it was part of his deal with the FBI that he helped put the bad guys away. Neal decided to ask Peter about it tomorrow.

Neal was a little concerned about how well he'd be able to work if he couldn't stay awake or away from Peter very long. Neal entertained the idea of setting up his desk in Peter's office. There was enough space in there if that one table was moved out of the way. Neal wouldn't have to walk all the way up to Peter's office when he had something to say then. It would be so much more convenient.

Neal stopped himself from thinking about actually asking Peter to let him move his desk. It was completely ridiculous. Neal could easily see Peter from were his desk was now. They didn't need to be within talking distance. Neal felt like an idiot for relying on Peter's presence. He was safe now. There was nothing to worry about anymore. At least that was what he was telling himself.

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Mozzie had called Elizabeth's cell to tell her that he was coming over and that he hadn't got anywhere with the investigation, yet. Elizabeth told Peter that Mozzie sounded determined to find the man behind everything, just like he did with Neal and his kidnapper. Peter felt even more useless than he did the whole month Neal had been gone. When Neal was missing, Peter was able to follow leads and look for clues, but now he couldn't even go into the office to use the FBI's resources to find the man that ordered Neal's kidnapping. At least his team as well as Mozzie were working hard on that. It was just hard to not be able to do anything.

Ten minutes after Elizabeth got off the phone with Mozzie, the bespectacled man was knocking on their door. Neal's eyes lit up when Mozzie came into the living room. "Moz!" Neal said happily. He moved to get up from the couch, but Mozzie threw his hands up to stop his friend from moving.

"Ah, ah, ah! Stay there. You're on the mend, my friend," he said as he came over and sat down.

"I'm not an invalid, Moz," Neal argued, but stayed seated. Neal didn't seem upset about Mozzie being so close. Maybe they were making progress, Peter thought hopefully as he sat down at the dining room table to give the two partners in crime time to reacquaint.

"Yes, but your body is healing and rest as well as laughter is the best medicine," Mozzie said, pointing a finger in the air.

Neal smiled. "Are you here to make me laugh?" he asked.

"Of course! My true stories of conspiracies never fail to amuse and intrigue you," Mozzie said, then pulled a box out of the messenger bag he had brought with him. "While I'm updating you on the most recent plots the government has to take over the establishment, we can play the ever-challenging game of parcheesi."

Peter watched from the dining room table as Neal and Mozzie played parcheesi for a while, close enough so Neal could see Peter and Peter could watch Neal, but it became obvious that Neal was struggling to stay awake after the third round. "How about you take a nap while I raid the suits kitchen for their best wine?" Mozzie said as he put the game away.

Neal smiled sleepily at that, but he was fading fast. Mozzie got up to give Neal the whole couch to lay on, then put a blanket over the already fast asleep ex-conman.

Peter got up from where he had been been sitting as Mozzie came into the dining room. Mozzie stood by Peter and they both watched their mutual friend sleep.

"How has he been doing?" Mozzie asked softly, breaking the compatible silence.

"Better, but he's still having a really tough time. I'm trying to help, but he still has that haunted look in his eyes," Peter said, frustrated.

"Sometimes death is preferable to the agony of life," Mozzie quoted, his voice grim.

"Will you please stop sounding like a fortune cookie - it's not helping," Peter said a little angrily, then sighed when he realized that that was just the way Mozzie talked. "Besides, he hasn't shown any signs of...that."

"Neal is a world-class con artist - do you really think he wouldn't be able to hide that kind of thing from you if he wanted to?" Mozzie asked, just as concerned about Neal as Peter was.

Peter shook his head after a moment of thinking. "He's let his walls come down in front of me, Mozzie, he's not hiding anything from me anymore," Peter said truthfully. It was one of the more shocking things that Neal had done since he had been rescued.

Mozzie nodded. "Just...keep an eye on him," he said after a moment, his eyes meeting the agents.

Peter could tell by the concern in Mozzie's eyes that the strange, little man truly cared for Neal. If there had been any doubt in Peter's mind before, that look eradicated any of it. "I will," he promised.

Peter hadn't been able to find Neal, but Mozzie did, so it was obvious to the agent that Mozzie had ways to get information that the FBI couldn't. Peter didn't want to know, so he didn't ask. If Mozzie did something illegal to get the information about Neal's whereabouts, then that could be Mozzie's little secret.

Chapter Text

Neal really enjoyed the chance to visit with Mozzie. His friend never failed to cheer him up. Neal just wished that he'd had more energy to stay awake longer. Neal had been told that Mozzie was the one that figured out where he had been held, so Neal made sure to thank his friend for that, even though he was pretty sure he had already done that when he was in the hospital. Neal wasn't uncomfortable having Mozzie sit next to him and that gave him hope that he'd be able to do that with other people soon. Maybe he'd be able to go to work sooner than he thought. Neal planned on talking to Peter about that soon.

Even though Peter had time off from work, he still couldn't just shut off the FBI agent that people relied on. He needed to check his e-mails, so he set up his laptop at the dining room table after breakfast the next day while Neal watched a documentary about African wildlife in the living room. Peter was within his line of sight, so Neal didn't feel as worried about the monsters lurking in the shadows.

"Dammit, the Wi-Fi is acting up again," Peter said suddenly, frustration clear in his voice. Neal looked over and could see the agent was scowling at his laptop. The anger he showed toward the laptop that probably didn't even do anything wrong was actually kind of funny and a smile appeared on Neal's face. What used to be a constant thing was now few and far between and Neal treasured the feeling of happiness and normalcy the smile brought.

"Honey, why don't you just call someone to fix it already?" Elizabeth asked from the kitchen where she was getting some snacks for more TV watching. The door leading to the kitchen was open, so she could hear her husband's annoyed voice easily.

"I can fix it - I have fixed it - but it just keeps breaking," Peter said, then hit the keyboard angrily for good measure.

"Is that really going to help, Peter?" Neal asked, loving to tease Peter. Maybe things were slowly getting back to normal.

"It made me feel a little better," Peter muttered, almost defending himself. That brought another smile to Neal's face.

"Just call someone, Peter," Elizabeth said with a hint of annoyance as she came out of the kitchen to look over Peter's shoulder. She seemed annoyed by the Wi-Fi not working as well, but not as much as Peter.

Peter sighed. "Fine, I'll call someone," Peter said, finally listening to his wife like a good husband. Elizabeth kissed him on the top of the head for his obedience, then went back into the kitchen to finish getting the snacks.

The thought of someone coming into the safety of the Burke's home frightened Neal more than it probably should have. "You'll be here when they come, right?" Neal asked Peter before he could stop himself. Maybe having other people, strangers, being near him without being afraid of what might happen was farther away than Neal thought.

Peter paused mid-dial to look up at Neal, a little wrinkle of concern appearing between his eyes. "Of course, bud. I'll be here the whole time." He smiled, then finished dialing. Something in Neal's chest loosened from what Peter said. Peter wouldn't let anything happen to him - he knew this, but the feeling that anyone or anything could be a threat was a hard feeling to just ignore, no matter how inaccurate it was.

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Neal startled when the doorbell rang. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest as Peter approached the door. Neal took deep breaths and told himself that the person on the other side of the door was not to be feared and that Peter was there in case he was. It helped, mostly.

After smiling reassuringly to Neal, Peter let the man inside. After the required pleasantries, Peter pointed toward the Wi-Fi modem that was next to the fax machine. "It's right over there. Damn thing's been acting up and neither my wife or I can figure out what's wrong with it. I'd usually have more patience with something like this, but both me and my wife need the internet for our jobs," Peter said, babbling a little.

Satchmo had been put outside while the man was here so he didn't get in the way. The lab was by no means dangerous, but he'd want to lick the man's hands the whole time and that'd be a little distracting.

It seemed strange to Neal that it only took a few hours for someone to come to fix the Wi-Fi. Maybe it had been a slow day for them.

Neal stayed at his spot on the couch while the man and Peter went over to the Wi-Fi modem. Neal had changed into something a little more presentable for company - jeans and a nice blue t-shirt. It wasn't what he'd usually wear when someone that he didn't know saw him, but it was better than the sweatpants and loose shirt he had been wearing before - also something he wouldn't wear around other people, or at all. Wearing a nice suit only to sit around the house all day didn't seem practical though.

Peter had positioned himself to be between Neal and the man, and whether he did it subconsciously or not, Neal was still grateful either way.

"Is your wife here?" the man asked, his voice casual as he looked at the modem.

Peter scowled a little at the question. "No, she had to deal with something at work - something she could have done here if we had Wi-Fi," he said as he hovered behind the man a little.

"Can I see your laptop?" the man asked, still not looking away from the modem. Neal hadn't gotten a good look at the man's face, but something about him made the hairs on the back of Neal's neck stand up and a chill to go down his spine. Of course it was probably just the fact that he was a stranger.

Peter nodded. "Yeah, it's in the kitchen. I'll go get it." Peter looked at Neal for a moment and nodded reassuringly before heading into the kitchen. Neal thought about following Peter like a frightened little puppy, but chose to stay on the warm couch instead.

"Do you know how much work I put into getting a face-to-face with you, Neal?" the man said as he turned around to look a Neal. Now that the man was facing him, Neal could see what he looked like and the realization of who he was made Neal wish he followed Peter into the kitchen. He was a normal looking man - blond hair, green eyes and had stubble covering his face. He had to be about forty years old or so, but the forest-green ball cap he had on made him look a little younger. He also wore a jumpsuit of the same color as the ball cap. Both had the company's logo he supposedly worked for - some cartoon screwdriver that probably claimed that they were the best in the business. That normal looking face was a face that Neal had studied when this whole nightmare started, a face that Neal didn't think he'd actually see in person.

Neal's breath hitched when he realized why the man was here. Neal's eyes flickered over to the door that Peter had just passed through, but Before he could call out to the agent, the man pulled a gun out of his bag and pointed it at the ex-conman. "Call for your friend and you're dead," he said, his voice calm but his words somehow still ice cold.

Neal wanted to flinch away from the man with the gun in front of him, he wanted to pinch his eyes shut and pray for it to all be just another horrible dream, he wanted to call for Peter so he could fix everything, get the man with the gun out of the no longer safe house, but he didn't do any of those things. He just stayed quiet, like he was told to. He didn't want to die, not anymore, not when everything was so close to becoming normal again.

The man smiled at Neal's fear-induced obedience. "Good. Keep that up and this'll be nice and easy," he said happily, but before Neal could ask what this was, Peter came walking into the room, completely unaware of what was going on.

"Here's the-" Whatever Peter might have said died on his lips when he saw what was happening in his living room. Neal could see Peter reach for his sidearm with the hand that didn't have the laptop, but Peter had no reason to think that there were anymore dangers, so he didn't have it or its holster with him.

The man still had his gun pointed at Neal with a sense of calm that said he had the whole situation under control. He smiled at Peter. "There's no need for heroics, Agent Burke," he said, then used his gun to indicate that he wanted Peter to move over to a spot next to the couch.

"Who the hell are you?" Peter asked as he walked over to the couch, his voice close to a growl. Once Peter got to the spot the man wanted him to be, the agents stance widened and he sent the man his most intimidating look. Peter looked pretty formidable right then, in Neal's opinion, even though he wasn't the one with the gun.

It surprised all three men when Neal answered Peter's question. "He's the man that killed Michael Franks, a husband and father of three. He's the man that forced Eli Fetcher and his daughter Maria into WITSEC, and he's also the man that ordered my kidnapping and torture," Neal said from his spot on the couch, his voice somehow not stuttering or cracking. Both the man with the gun and Peter looked questionably at Neal. "I studied Eli's description of you a lot," he said in way of explanation.

The man with the gun nodded, smiling. "Ritter was right - you are a smart one," he said, the mention of his former captors name sending a shiver of fear down Neal's spine. The man must have seen his fear because he smiled even more. "Yes, Ritter. Interesting man. I bet you two had a lot of things to talk about during that month you spent with him."

If he didn't think it would distract Peter, Neal would have reached out to hold the agents hand because he was seriously scared right then and needed Peter's comfort to help him through the most recent crisis. Neal really hated the dependence that he had for Peter's presence and contact, but it was the only thing that seemed to really help get him through this long journey back from hell.

The man took a moment to enjoy the fear on Neal's face before he turned to Peter. "When is your wife coming home?" the man asked. The look on Peter's face was pure murder at the mention of Elizabeth, but the man just sighed. "I'm not planning on hurting her, I just want to make sure she's not coming home anytime soon. I don't think you want her coming home to this either. The only thing I'm after is what's inside that kids head," he said, indicating Neal with his gun, "but depending on how cooperative he is, it could take a while." Neal really didn't like the implications the man's words brought.

Neal could see that Peter was considering lying, but decided on the truth. "She won't be home for hours."

"Good," the man said. "Now, I want you two to take a seat. Agent Burke, could you please grab some chairs from the table and bring them in here?"

With the gun still pointed at Neal, Peter could do nothing but obey. The man pulled out some zip ties from his bag as Peter brought two chairs from the dining room and brought them into the living room, the gun or the man's gaze never leaving Neal.

The man looked at Peter for a moment and Neal saw the opportunity to turn the situation around. The gun was still pointed at Neal, but that was okay because then it wasn't pointed at Peter. Peter, who saved him from that hell, that got him out of prison, gave him a purpose in life, to help people instead of stealing from them. Peter, the most honest, honorable man that Neal had ever met. Peter, who didn't deserve to have a crazy gunman break into his house. Neal had brought so much trouble into Peter's life. This was Neal's problem to fix, and he wasn't going to let the opportunity to do just that slip by him.

Neal lunged to his feet, ignoring the stabbing pain the movement brought, and went for the gun. Neal shoved the man's arm to the side to get himself out of the line of fire while also trying to get the gun out of the man's grasp, but the man kept his strong grip on the weapon. All of the man's attention was back on Neal now, and with the man's obvious physical strength over Neal in his current state, the odds were stacked against him.

Fortunately Peter was there to help, like he always seemed to be. Peter used one of the chairs that he had brought into the living room to hit the man over the head. The man fell to the ground, but still refused to let go of the weapon, and neither did Neal. Neal went down with the man, landing on top of him. The whole situation would turn around if Neal let go of the gun. Neal was not going to let that happen.

Neal used the advantage of being on top of the man by pinning him to the ground with his body. The hit to the head had stunned the man a little, but not enough. The man punched Neal in the face with the hand that didn't have the gun in an attempt to get Neal off of him. The punch dazed Neal a little, but he still didn't let go of the gun. Peter approached, coming to help, but the man kicked Peter hard in the leg. Peter went down, clutching his wounded leg.

Neal quickly looked around for something he could use to gain the upper-hand. He spied a pair of scissors in a pencil cup on the bookshelf that the Wi-Fi modem was also on. It was a few feet away from where him and the man were. Letting go of the gun with one hand, Neal pulled his fist back and punched the man in the face. Neal was pretty sure he heard a snap, then a second later blood started pouring out of the man's nose.

Peter got back up and started fighting with the man while Neal reached for the scissors. It was a stretch, but Neal got the scissors and turned back right as the man kicked Peter in the stomach, sending the agent backwards onto his back.

Neal hesitated only for a moment before he plunged the scissors into the man's chest. Neal had learned a lot about where someone could get stabbed and not bleed out during the last month, and whether the man deserved to die or not, Neal didn't aim to kill.

Pain and shock got the man to release the gun. Neal wasted no time grabbing it and aiming in at the bleeding man under him. Peter came up to him at that point and helped Neal stand while Neal kept the gun trained on the man. Three different panting breaths as well as the wounded man's pained moans filled the otherwise deathly silence

"Can I have the gun, Neal?" Peter asked calmly. Neal turned to look at Peter without letting the gun waver. He saw the concern, the protectiveness that always made Neal feel cared for, in the agents warm brown eyes and he knew that Peter would take care of this as well.

Neal handed Peter the gun with a shaky hand, but gasped softly as pain shot through his stomach. Neal looked down to see his light blue t-shirt had a dark spot on it that was spreading at an alarming rate. Neal lifted the shirt to see that the stitches on one of the deeper cuts on his stomach had torn, probably during the fight. Neal's hand felt quite heavy suddenly, so he let it drop to his side, his shirt falling back in place as well.

"Peter," Neal said, his voice a little weak sounding. Peter had been securing the man's hands with the zip ties that he had brought to tie Neal and Peter up, but his head snapped around at the sound of his friends voice. His eyes locked onto the spot on Neal's shirt that Neal couldn't seem to look away from.

"What happened?" Peter asked urgently as he got up and walked over to the younger man. "Did you get hurt?"

"Stitches," Neal mumbled, his vision graying out on the edges. The Burke's living room seemed to tilt for a second, but then mostly settled.

Peter put a steady hand on Neal's shoulder, then lifted the younger man's shirt to see the wound that was still bleeding. "Shit," Peter cursed, then went into Special Agent Mode and took control of the situation. "Here, sit down. We need to stop the bleeding," he said, leading Neal to the couch.

Neal looked over to the man on the floor once he was seated and saw that he probably wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Peter had done a good job securing him. That was good.

Neal blinked and then Peter suddenly had a phone and towel in his hands. Had he left? Neal didn't remember him leaving. Maybe the phone and towel had been in the living room already. That didn't make too much sense, but Neal still went with it being as he couldn't come up with a better explanation.

"Neal, focus," Peter said, his voice commanding. Neal hadn't realized that he hadn't been focusing, but he locked eyes with Peter so the agent knew that he was listening now.

"This is going to hurt, but I have to stop the bleeding, okay?" Peter said as he gently placed the towel onto Neal's wound.

Neal knew pain now, knew it very intimately, but he would never get used to the feeling of it. Neal nodded and braced himself for the pain.

Peter pressed down on the wound and the pain that Neal was just barely able to ignore demanded full attention suddenly. It was terrible and nauseating, but it was pain that Neal thought he could handle if it meant the bleeding would stop.

Peter was saying something else then, but it was about things Neal already knew, like the blood that was staining the Burke's comfy couch and the man on the floor that was also bleeding and staining the hardwood floor and where they were. Neal looked at Peter to see who he might have been talking to, because it obviously wasn't him, but Peter was blurry and blackness invaded his vision.

Neal blinked again and suddenly Peter was shaking him. It jostled Neal's many aches and pains, but Peter looked really concerned, so it had to be for a good reason. Peter was a good man and he didn't like hurting people.

"Neal, I think you're going into shock. You need to stay awake, okay? Don't fall asleep," Peter said, but it sounded like Peter was really far away. That couldn't be right - Peter was right there. Neal focused on staying awake because Peter seemed to think it was important.

Neal must have disobeyed Peter's request because time seemed to jump again. There were paramedics in Peter's house all of a sudden. They were checking on the man on the floor, though Neal knew he wouldn't bleed out any time soon.

"No, leave him! Take care of him first," Peter said, anger clear in his voice. The paramedics came over to the couch then. Neal didn't like the idea of someone that wasn't Peter getting so close to him, but he found that he couldn't really move. That was a little scary, but then there was a pinch in his arm then things faded away.

Chapter Text

Peter just let the police and the next ambulance take care of the man that had conned his way into his house while he rode in the ambulance that took Neal to the hospital. Peter stayed with Neal as long as he could, but when they arrived at the hospital a very insistent nurse made Peter sit in the waiting room while the doctors took care of Neal. Neal had been given a sedative, so it was unlikely that he'd wake up, but Peter still wanted to be in there just in case.

Peter knew that if Neal woke up with him not there, he might freak out and someone could even get hurt. No one would be able to blame Neal if he thought he was in danger, but it was something that Peter wanted to avoid if possible.

It was hard, but Peter managed to stay in the waiting room, his legs bouncing uncontrollably and mind racing. One of the many things running through Peter's whirling mind was of the fight that occurred in his living room. The agent hadn't even thought of the man that hired Ritter to try to finish the job. The man really didn't want any loose ends, apparently, if he was willing to risk getting caught by attempting to get the information that he thought Neal had on his own when Ritter couldn't. Peter was surprised that Neal actually stabbed the man, but it was what was necessary. Peter was also proud that Neal did something so heroic and obviously extremely difficult for a non-violent person like Neal to do to safe their lives.

Peter had no idea what it was going to do to Neal's recovery, though. Would he be ready to go back to work when the Marshals expected him to start holding up his side of the deal again? There was no way that Peter would let them send him back to prison until he could work again. Peter didn't want to think of what being put back in a cell would do to Neal's mental health at this point.

Peter's impatience was reaching an all time high and he was just about to ask the insistent nurse for an update on Neal's condition. Then he got a phone call. The information he received still hadn't really sunk in as he numbly hung up the phone. It had to have been some of the most disturbing information he had ever received. How was he going to tell Neal? Peter knew he'd have to eventually, but it would be hard to do, to see the horror and confusion on Neal's face when he was told the real reason for everything that had happened in the last month. Would that knowledge set Neal back even farther in his recovery?

Finally after what seemed like forever, Peter was able to see Neal. The convalescing man hadn't woken up since he was given a sedative, thank goodness, and the doctors were able to re-stitch the wound that had opened without incident. Peter definitely wanted to be there when Neal woke up and realized that he was back at the hospital - a place that he had wanted to leave a soon as humanly possible last time he was here.

Despite the doctors estimate of Neal not waking up for at least a few more hours, the young ex-con actually woke up about twenty minutes after Peter sat down next to him.

When the younger man started to stir, Peter leaned in close to make sure that he was the first thing that Neal saw when he opened his eyes. Seeing the person that he for some reason associated with safety might calm him down if he woke up in a panic. Truthfully, Peter didn't know what to expect.

"Hey, Neal. You awake?" Peter said, keeping his voice calm and reassuring.

Neal cracked his light blue eyes open and locked them with Peter's warm brown ones. He smiled a little at his friend. "Hey," he said, his voice a little rough.

"Hey," Peter said back, happy that Neal was acting calm so far.

"Where are we?" Neal's eyes started to wander around the room, his smile fading as he realized where they were. "You said we wouldn't have to go back to the hospital," he said before Peter could say anything, hurt and confusion set deep within his eyes.

"Your stitches tore, Neal. I'm not equipped to handle that," Peter said softly. He knew he did the right thing, but it hurt to see that look on Neal's face, to know he had caused it.

The look slowly left Neal's face, then he nodded. "Right, the stitches," he said, putting a careful hand over his stomach where the new stitches were. His eyes then had that haunted look again, but only for a moment. "When can I leave?" he asked as he looked back at Peter.

"You lost quite a bit of blood and the doctors want to keep you here for awhile, but-" Peter raised a hand to forestall Neal's protest, "-if you really want to, we can leave as soon as you can stand on your own."

"That's what I have you for, Peter," Neal said as cheerfully as he could in his sleepy state.

"I'd feel a little better if I knew you could do so without me."

"Fine," Neal acquiesced, then went quiet as he looked out the large window to his right, his expression turning thoughtful, troubled even. It was still daytime and the sun shone brightly through the glass and into the room. "I don't even know where Eli and Maria are," Neal eventually said, his voice a little desperate, like he was still trying to convince someone of the fact. He looked at Peter, eyes questioning and confused. "Why does everyone think I know?"

He probably asked it as a rhetorical question, but Peter actually knew the answer. He really, really didn't want to tell Neal why, but he would have to eventually. Peter sighed, took Neal's hand in his own then ripped off the metaphorical Band-Aid. "Ritter finally started talking after he was informed about what happened today. Ritter had spread a rumor that you were told where Eli and Maria were moved to. Word eventually got around to the man that shot the security guard, a man we now know as David Quinn, and Ritter made sure that he was hired to interrogate you. He set it all up from the start," Peter explained, his heart grave as he told his friend the disturbing information. Quinn lawyered-up immediately, but his fingerprints were in AFIS for a stint he did for a B&E he did a few years back, so they didn't need him to talk to know who he was. Eli's description of the shooter was a perfect match as well.

Neal looked ahead, his eyes darting back and forth as he processed the information. He was quiet for so long that Peter didn't think he'd say anything. "He did all of those things to me knowing full-well that I didn't know anything," he eventually said, his voice confused and disturbed.

Peter nodded grimly, anger and sadness settling deep in his gut. "The man is a sadistic bastard that will rot in prison for the rest of his miserable life," he said, trying to find a silver lining in the hellish storm they were weathering. It wasn't enough to fix all of this, not even close, but Peter hoped that Neal could find some closure by knowing that Ritter was getting at least a fraction of what he deserved.

"What scares me the most is I don't know if he did it for the money or the pleasure," Neal said, his voice just as haunted as before.

Peter shook his head. "It's best not to try to figure out the motives of men like him."

Neal nodded, swallowing hard. "Thank you, for telling me - for not sheltering me from the truth," he said after a minute, looking at Peter with grateful eyes.

"You deserved to know," Peter said sincerely. It was hard to tell Neal the disturbing information, but the younger man was actually taking it pretty well, considering. Peter knew that they'd make it through this hellish journey eventually, but it seemed that every time they started making progress something set them back and made their uphill battle even tougher. It was going to be a challenge, but Neal was not alone in the fight.

WCWCWCWC

Peter, concerned about his friends wellbeing, mentioned the sleepwalking to Dr. Campbell - Peter now knew that that was definitely the doctor's name since he was wearing a lab coat with a name tag this time - a few hours later and the doctor recommended sleeping pills and for Neal to see a psychiatrist. Neal, predictably, said no to both.

"Why won't you see a psychiatrist, Neal? I really think it'd help you," Peter said when the doctor left the room to get the AMA forms for Neal to sign. Things happened on the job and Peter had seen a few of them himself. It wasn't something he liked to do, but even he could admit that it helped to talk about his troubles.

"I don't want anyone messing with my head," Neal said, his gaze set on his removable brace. The 'else' wasn't said aloud, but Peter still heard it. Ritter hadn't only hurt Neal physically, he messed with his head and filled it with lies, he deprived him of food, water, light and human contact as well as many other things that every human needed to stay sane. It really was a miracle - or more accurately, a true testament of the young man's strength and ability to endure hardship - that he was as put together as he was. Peter felt a unexpected burst of pride flow through him at the thought of Neal and the strength he had shown through all of this.

"Well, what about the sleeping pills? You could really hurt yourself if you're sleepwalking every night," Peter continued, hoping Neal could be persuaded into accepting help from an outside source.

Neal sighed, then swallowed before speaking up. "Ritter..." he started, then took a breath before continuing. "He drugged me several times. I can't have that loss of control, that helplessness, again, Peter," he said as he finally looked up at Peter, eyes shining with a hint of desperation.

With that look, Peter knew he wouldn't have been able to say no to Neal if he tried. "I won't make you take the pills and I won't make you see a psychiatrist, but I want you to keep those options in mind, okay?"

Neal nodded. "Okay," he said, and Peter believed that he would at least think about it if things got worse.

Peter settled down in the chair next to the bed Neal was laying in as they waited for the doctor to come back.

"Peter?" Neal said after several minutes of silence, his voice a little hesitant.

"Yeah?" Peter said cautiously, knowing that Neal was about to ask a serious question.

"Do you think you could take me to Kate's grave before we go back to your place?" Neal asked, staring at Peter with hesitancy but also an openness that wasn't usually there.

"Okay," Peter said, because he couldn't take that away from Neal, even though he thought it wouldn't be a good idea for him to be outside and standing too long with his injuries and illness. If Neal thought that he needed to see Kate, then they'd go see Kate.

WCWCWCWC

It was a sorrowful sight, Neal standing there with his hands in the pockets of his long black coat and looking mournfully down at the gravestone that had Kate Moreau's name etched in it. There were tears in his eyes and Peter knew if he wasn't there he would have let them fall, let himself grieve in the way his body wanted him to.

Before, Neal had been in control of all of his emotions, every tick of his facial muscles, every change in the tone of his smooth voice. That month with Ritter had put a large dent in the armor that Neal used to protect his vulnerable self, his real self, from the harsh world. He had probably built up his devil-may-cry façade of suave confidence and million dollar smiles a long time ago to not let anyone see any vulnerabilities, his caring and instinctively protective nature - something that had gotten him in trouble more that once - or his fierce loyalty to those close to him and use it against him, to hurt the ones he loved. Having a conscience and morals were weaknesses in the criminal world, ones that Neal tried not to show in fear of being exploited by cruel, violent criminals.

Now Neal was pointlessly trying to hold himself together when he could have grieved without judgment. Though Peter didn't blame him for wanting to keep his emotions shut down whenever he could control them. He hadn't had too much control over them recently and the younger man was never one to do well with no control.

Neal didn't say anything to her, but Peter guessed that he didn't know what to say. He was still here, still alive, and she was gone. Peter knew that Neal blamed himself for her death, that he thought if he had somehow done something different she'd still be alive. Neal never said that to Peter, but the agent could see it in the shadows in the young man's blue eyes as he gazed wistfully down at the grave in front of him.

There hadn't been enough of Kate left to bury after the explosion, so the casket went into the ground empty. Peter had gone to the funeral, and a sad sight it had been. Only a few other people had been there as well - Mozzie, Elizabeth and a few others that Peter didn't know, probably some people that ran cons with Kate, once upon a time. Peter knew that Kate's father was dead, but he didn't know about her mother. She could have been dead as well, or they were just estranged.

No one had seemed to miss her as much as Neal did, and he hadn't been able say goodbye to her since he was locked up because no one knew what to think about what happened at that hanger on that cold, heartless day when Peter had to hold Neal back from running into the flames in a vain attempt to save Kate when in reality, he would have joined his love. For two months Neal had to sit in that prison, mourning over the love of his life and grieving alone without a reason.

They stood there for a long time, Peter watching Neal and Neal staring at the stone that represented the woman that he loved but never truly loved him back. She drew him in with promises of love and loyalty, but never actually fulfilled those promises. Neal never saw it, he was just a kid so smitten by her that it blinded him from the cold truth. He thought he had found the one and they'd have the happily-ever-after that the kid had always dreamed of. Reality was a bitter pill to swallow, one that Peter wasn't sure Neal had swallowed yet.

"Thank you," Neal said softly as they walked back to the Taurus. Peter didn't know if seeing her helped Neal or not, but it was worth a shot.

"No problem," Peter said, wrapping his arm around the younger man's shoulders. Neal leaned into the touch, seeming to soak up the contact for all in was worth.

Chapter Text

Neal woke to a splitting headache, a chill in the air and the dank smell of standing water. Without moving his body, Neal opened his eyes minutely to see the white dress shirt and slacks he had been wearing on his way to his apartment. He couldn't remember getting there.

He appeared to be sitting in a hard metal chair that wasn't at all comfortable, and the way his head was slumped against his chest was sure to promise pain the moment he moved his head. He idly wondered where his hat was, then thought of his anklet. He definitely didn't feel the familiar weight on his left ankle. What he could feel was the also all too familiar coldness of metal around his wrists, wrists that were behind his back. Small, calculated movements told him that the cuffs were tight, thick and seemed to be chained to the chair he was sitting in. A little more exploration revealed that the key hole was strange feeling, like it was an electronic one. That made his chance of escape much less likely if the only way to get out of the cuffs was to get the key. He was never one to bow down to a challenge, though.

The sudden sound of a door opening had Neal's eyes shutting and his breath slowing to a feigned slumber so he had as long as he could to figure the situation out without pain or threats. Neal kept his muscles slack as he heard someone walk back and forth in front of him.

A fist to Neal's jaw had his head snapping to the side by the force of it, his headache racketing up about five notches. Knowing he couldn't fake unconsciousness any longer, Neal opened his eyes to meet a pair of green eyes that were cheerful but still somehow as cold as ice. The man standing in front of him wasn't really what he expected. Neal didn't recognize him, but he kind of thought he'd look a little more...intimidating.

The man smiled down at him with a smile that seemed to have evil intentions. "Hello, Neal Caffrey. I'm glad you're awake." Neal immediately and almost unconsciously started processing the information that was given to him with the few words the man had spoken. The man knew his name, so his kidnapping was planned, and he seemed to think that whatever they were about to do would be fun or entertaining, at least to him.

"Glad to be awake," Neal said with a smile he didn't feel. Quickly glancing around, Neal saw that there was a large table to his right that had a sheet over it, probably for dramatic effect when the man wanted to show what was under it in a few minutes. Other than that, there was a drain under the chair he was sitting in and he tried not to think about why it would be there. The door the man most likely came in being as it seemed to be the only way in and out of the room was metal, new looking and shut. There wasn't really anything else to look at being as the room was pretty bare and small.

"Do you know why you're here?" the man asked as he watched Neal carefully.

"There's a party and I'm the guest of honor?" Neal guessed with feigned hopefulness.

"You are a cocky man, aren't you? That'll change," the man said confidently with a glint in his eyes that Neal did not like the look of. "Would you like to give me a straight answer?"

"If I had to take another guess, I'd say that I'm here because my skills or some sort of twisted and well-planned revenge you plan on invoking on me," Neal said as he tried to think of what, exactly, this man wanted from him. The man knew his name, so he probably knew about his admittedly vast skill set. Did he want him for that? Or was he a disgruntled mark from his past that he had robbed or conned? Or maybe a vengeful man that him and Peter had, in his obviously messed up mind, wronged by locking away a friend or family member? Neal hoped it was the first option - if it was, he'd be able to do something about it instead of taking whatever it is that this man wanted to do to him. And he really didn't want to think of what the man might want to do to him if this was all for revenge. He had pissed a lot of people off in his time, after all.

"Good guesses, but no," the man answered, then pointed a finger at Neal's head. "You have something in that head of yours that I want, something that I will get out of you, at whatever cost."

"And what's that?" Neal asked, trying to act nonchalant and not close to desperate to know the answer. Neal had no idea what information he might have that the man wanted from him. The other guesses had seemed a lot more likely. Well, maybe not the party one.

"Oh, we'll get to that in due time," the man said, then took the sheet off of the large wooden table to reveal an array of sharp utensils that glistened ominously in the dim light that came from the only light source - a single lightbulb that hung from the ceiling. Most of them Neal couldn't identify, but some of the less scary looking ones he recognized as a scalpel, a frightening large collection of knives of all sizes, some serrated and others very, very sharp looking, and something that looked a lot like a taser was also there, just to spice things up, Neal guessed.

Neal didn't let the building panic show on his face - he was a conman, after all. He plastered an unimpressed expression on his face and met the man's expectant gaze.

"Do you really think this is going to work? Brandish a few shiny knifes? Make me bleed? Maybe hit me a few times and I'll tell you all my secrets?" Neal asked cockily. Neal knew that he was resilient, maybe not as resilient as some, but he was as stubborn as they come. Of course he was still human and would break eventually when the pain became too much. Hopefully he'd be able to break out of this place or be rescued before then.

He had been interrogated before, not to the extent that this man seemed to want to go, but he did take quite a beating before Mozzie managed to get him out of the mess he had somehow landed himself in, back when it was just the two of them. He didn't tell the men what they wanted to know back then, but what secret he was going to have to try to keep this time, he did not know.

"Oh, I'm going to do far more than that to you," he said ominously, a wide, malicious smile on his face. Neal barely resisted the shiver that wanted to go up his spine and reveal his hidden fear.

The man turned to pick something up from the table. Before Neal could see what evil instrument he was about to face, a sudden flash temporarily blinded him. He blinked the spots from his vision as he tried to figure out what just happened. Was he mistaken, or did the man just take a picture of him?

Once the spots cleared, Neal could see that the man was holding an old-fashioned camera in his hands, one that used actual film. Why the man had just taken a picture of him, he did not know. Maybe proof of life, but that didn't make too much sense since the man wanted information, not money. This was not a ransom, it was an interrogation.

"We're going to have so much fun!" the man enthused happily, sounding like a complete maniac. He then put the camera down and picked up one of the largest and scariest looking knives.

Neal hoped Peter would come and save his butt soon because he wasn't sure how long he would be able to take this man's twisted 'fun'.

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Two weeks went by without too much incident. Neal hadn't gotten trapped in a flashback since what had been deemed 'the egg incident', but anyone could tell by the dark circles under the younger man's eyes that he was still having nightmares. Peter knew that not all of them had him crying out in the dead of night, but the older man had woken up many times in the last two weeks from heart-rending screams and cries for help and for Him to just stop. Like Ritter had mentioned before, those cries had been in several languages, some that even Peter hadn't known the young man spoke.

Peter spent too many nights waking Neal up from a terror-filled nightmare, telling him that he was safe now and that everything was going to be okay. Every time, Neal would apologize for waking Peter up and the agent would tell him that he didn't have to go to work in the morning anyway. The two men would then sit together on what might as well have been named Neal's bed and talk about what they'd do tomorrow, about the squirrel in the backyard that Satchmo was determined to but would never catch, and about the cat that Diana adopted, and now hated because the wild tabby had ripped apart half of her apartment. They talked about normal things, things of the future, things that made them smile and laugh.

They never talked about the nightmares that brought the now familiar haunted look on Neal's face, even though Peter asked every time if Neal wanted someone to listen to what was going through his head, to have someone else share the burden, the pain, that the nightmares brought upon him. Neal always politely declined, then scooted over to make room for Peter on the bed. Neal just wanted company after the reminders of what he went through and Peter gave that to him. He would have listened to every gruesome detail if Neal thought it'd help. Instead they just shared each other's company.

Peter always stayed there until Neal fell asleep again, which sometimes took hours, then the agent would slip out of bed and go back to his bedroom. Sometimes Elizabeth would peek in while they were talking, a proud, almost motherly smile on her face, just to watch them together.

Thankfully, the sleepwalking had been an isolated incident. Neal stayed in his bed all night unless he wanted a snack or needed to go to the bathroom. Peter wasn't sure why the problem had fixed itself, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth, for now.

Neal stayed insistent on not talking to a psychiatrist or taking sleeping pills. Even if the sleepwalking had stopped, the medication would have been able to help him fall asleep faster and easier after nightmares and talking about what happened might have helped him get passed everything he had gone through. But Neal said no and Peter accepted Neal's reasons, but still kept a close eye on the younger man in case he had to step in and force his hand.

Neal's pneumonia had mostly cleared up and the rest of his body was healing as well. He wasn't eating as much as he probably should have, wasn't gaining his weight back as fast as both Peter and Elizabeth had hoped he would, but he hadn't really seemed to have much of an appetite and they weren't going to force the kid to eat.

Peter and Elizabeth kept him on the strict - and painfully bland, as Neal had mentioned countless times - diet that the doctor had recommended, and they also made sure Neal was taking his medication regularly and his bandages were replaced often. Peter was still on leave, so he was able to stay with Neal the whole time. The usually hard working agent was becoming a little claustrophobic and bored with so much time off, but short walks with Neal and Satchmo helped as well as little jobs around the house that had been pushed off forever. Neal helped out with some of the less physically straining ones, and Peter had to admit, it was nice to bond with Neal over the various odd jobs that Elizabeth kept coming up with to keep their minds preoccupied, even if they didn't agree with each other about how things were supposed to get done half of the time. But it was definitely worth it if it meant that he was there for Neal when he needed him.

Since Peter hadn't left the house without Neal, the younger man hadn't really had the chance to be away from Peter. He still liked to be in the same room as Peter, but he was okay at night when they separated and when Peter left the room Neal didn't follow. Peter considered these small steps improvements, even if they weren't leaps and bounds of success. This journey was a marathon, not a sprint.

Chapter Text

Peter stood in the kitchen as he went through the large pile of mail that was on the counter in front of him. With all of the free time he now had, Peter had taken on quite a few jobs that Elizabeth usually did, one of which was mail sorting.

Most of the mail was the usual junk that everyone got, one was a utility bill that Peter sat aside for later and one was a large manila envelope that felt quite full.

Curious, Peter checked for a return address. It said that it was from the bureau. He wasn't expecting anything from the bureau. Slightly concerned now, Peter opened the envelope with a little hesitation. Inside was a large collection of pictures with one main subject - Neal.

They were the pictures that Ritter had taken while Neal had been held captive by the bastard, Peter realized with a sick feeling in his stomach. Peter told himself to put them down, to look away from the horror in each picture, but he couldn't stop himself from flipping through them.

Each picture was worse than the last, like a sick and twisted time lapse to the horror of what Neal had gone through. Neal showed his courage and bravery by smiling at first, but it was obvious that he was barely holding it together and soon he cowered away from the camera, and from the person taking the pictures. Peter had thought that he had seen the worst that this nightmare had to offer, but those pictures just scratched the surface of a hell that Peter hadn't even seen, a hell that Neal wouldn't have to even had to go through if a sadist didn't spread a rumor just to get his kicks and paycheck.

In some of the pictures Neal was soaked, water dripping from his dark hair, others he didn't have a shirt on and Peter was able to see cuts, burns and blood covering his abused body. Sometimes Neal was tied to a chair or strapped to a table, passed out or too weak to open his eyes and look at the camera. There were so many pictures that Ritter would've had to have taken them more than once a day.

Ritter had to have somehow sent Peter these pictures just to taunt the agent. Peter's anger towards Ritter reignited once again as he looked at the pain and terror in Neal's eyes in one of the worst pictures.

"Whatcha got there, Peter?" a voice behind him suddenly asked, causing Peter to jump and spin around to come face-to-face with Neal, freshly bathed with his hair still damp, standing in front of him with a curious expression on his face.

Just by looking at Neal, Peter could tell that he had improved a lot over the last week. His nightmares were becoming less and less frequent and that made for more restful nights for the both of them, which showed in the lightening of the skin below his eyes. And his appetite was coming back, in no small part from finally being able to eat good, flavorful food now, and that showed in his less sharply defined cheekbones. He was also able to go through the day with only one nap in the afternoon. His limp was completely gone now and he would be able to lose the removable cast for good in two to three weeks. His ribs were healing slower, but the pneumonia that made having broken ribs hell was almost completely cleared up now.

He was getting healthier everyday, but his mental health was also improving. He smiled and laughed a lot more and he barely spent any time staring off into space with that haunted look on his face, reliving that month. There'd always be scars, physical and psychological, but they were just proof of how strong Neal was to be able to make it to the other side a whole man after what he went through.

"Just some, uh, pictures," Peter stuttered out, hiding the pictures behind his back so Neal couldn't see them. Neal did not need a visual reminder of what he went through.

"Pictures of what?" Neal continued to prod curiously.

With only a second to think, there was only one thing that Peter could come up with to get Neal to lose interest in the pictures. "Of Elizabeth...naked," Peter said, his cheeks heating up as Neal's face screwed up into an expression that would have matched a kid hearing anything sexual about his parents.

"Oh...Well, I'll just leave you to that then..." Neal said awkwardly, obviously uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had gone.

Peter's cheeks heated up even more as Neal took a few steps backwards. "No, no, they were just, uh, being processed before they were sent here and I had, uh, actually forgotten about them until now." Peter quickly stuffed the pictures back inside the envelope without letting Neal see. Fortunately, the younger man didn't even want to look in the general direction of the pictures.

They stood awkwardly in the kitchen for a few moments, neither man looking at the other, until Peter thought of something for them to do. "Come on, let's surprise El by doing the laundry for her," Peter said, then led the way to the washing machine. The awkward air between them quickly settled into the camaraderie that was normal for them as they worked together.

Right after Peter and Neal finished doing laundry - and an interesting chore that had been since neither man actually knew how to run a washing machine - Hughes called Peter to inform him that the Marshals as well as the higher-ups in the FBI expected Neal back to work soon. Peter wanted to have words with the people that thought Neal was in any shape to work, but Hughes wouldn't let him. It was probably for the best, being as he probably would have gotten himself fired for what he wanted to tell - or more accurately, yell at - them.

While he had his boss on the phone, Peter told Hughes about the pictures that Ritter had sent him and Hughes had Diana look into how Ritter, or possibly Quinn, had been able to send those pictures. It didn't take long to figure out what happened. Apparently Ritter's lawyer was payed to send them, but not payed enough to keep quiet about it after Diana started asking questions. She was charged and Ritter was given a reliable lawyer. Even though Peter wanted to burn every one of the pictures, they were evidence, so he resisted the urge, barely.

Despite Peter's wishes and Hughes' attempts to prevent it, Neal was back to work the next week, as was Peter. The young man wasn't coughing up phlegm like it was going out of style anymore, but he still tired out quickly, didn't like when other people besides Peter got too close to him, and hadn't had much of a chance to be away from Peter for longer periods of time. His ribs and wrist hadn't been given enough time to heal either, but apparently it was close enough for the powers that be.

Peter wanted to argue to the high-horsed federal yahoos about Neal's rights, even if he was a criminal on probation, but Hughes advised against it and Neal pleaded for Peter not to try to fight a battle that he wouldn't win in the end. It was Neal who convinced him not to make a big deal about it, saying that he would be fine and that he was actually looking forward to going back to work. Neal's mind, almost like a child's in some aspects, was one that needed constant stimulation and just lounging around the house must have been as mind-numbing - or even more - as Peter had felt it was.

Neal was able to see Peter from were he sat at his desk - something that Peter had planned when he had taken Neal on as a consultant originally but for completely different reasons - and the agent decided that if Neal wasn't able to handle the distance, he'd invite him into his office to work for the day. If anyone had a problem with that, then Peter would tell them exactly where they could stick their complaints.

Neal subtly looked up at Peter's office throughout the day, probably just to have visual confirmation that he was safe and protected here, an environment that he was no longer used to. Peter would nod reassuringly to Neal and Neal would smile a little smile that told Peter that his reassurance was appreciated.

Jones, Diana and quite a few other agents and staff welcomed Neal back, though they kept a respectable distance and didn't make a huge deal about it by spotlighting him too much. Even Hughes came out of his office and told the young man that he had been missed. Neal played the part of the confident ex-conman that they all knew and begrudgingly loved, but Peter knew that the young man wasn't as comfortable with being around so many people as he let on.

Once the welcome back celebrations were finished and everyone went back to work, Neal appeared focused as he worked quietly through his pile of mortgage and mail fraud cases Peter had given him - easy and boring for his first day back - but Peter knew he was keeping a constant eye on every person in the office. He stiffened whenever someone passed his desk, which was often being as it was right next to the entrance to the bullpen.

Of course, Neal was a conman at heart and could fool just about everyone, so only Peter saw the way his shoulders stiffened slightly and his hand clench just a little tighter around the pen he was holding when someone passed by. Only Peter saw the way his eyes glanced around the office just a little too often to check where everyone was. He did relax more and more through the day, but he still kept a close eye on everyone.

No one else knew that Neal was having trouble integrating back into his old life. His winning personality and dazzling smiles distracted everyone from his startling weight loss, not as bad as when he was first rescued but still very noticeable to those who looked, and the careful way he held himself and the brace that made working harder but not impossible. Neal wouldn't let anyone else see that being held captive and tortured for a month effected him in the least, he wouldn't let them see that he was human. Neal sold the lie to everyone else, just like Peter knew he would.

Everyone in the office knew about what had happened to Neal - most of them had been part of the team to find Neal, kidnapped or not - so they knew not to touch him or approach him unannounced. Everyone except for Agent Williams, who worked for Missing Persons and came down to the White Collar division for a file on a criminal that might have been connected to the case he was working. He knew that Neal had gone missing - along with pretty much everyone else in the building since Peter had been at the butt end of the jokes around the water cooler about how he had let a criminal loose on the streets until Neal was found to be kidnapped - but not too many people knew the details besides the fact that he hadn't actually run.

Agent Williams was by no means a bad person, but he was very vocal about how he never liked the idea of a criminal helping the FBI take down other criminals. He didn't think they could be trusted, which was exactly what Quantico had taught each agent that worked there.

Peter was keeping a watchful eye on Neal from his office as the younger man went to the small break area to grab some coffee - something that he was now allowed in moderation - and one of the blueberry muffins that Agent Blake had brought in as a welcome back snack. At that moment, Agent Williams came striding into the White Collar Unit. The timing could not have been worse.

Neal turned away from the counter and started towards his desk right as Agent Williams was passing by. The two collided and the hot coffee spilled all over Agent Williams tie and shirt.

Neal stood there for several moments, stunned as he stared at the large brown stain on Agent Williams clothes.

Then Agent Williams started ripping into him. "Goddammit, Caffrey! This is my favorite tie!" the agent yelled, loud enough for Peter to hear from his office, his face turning red with anger.

Neal cringed back a little, staring up at the agent, who was six-foot-three of well-toned muscle of a former linebacker, with carefully concealed fear. "S-sorry," he said, then smiled a smile that only Peter saw as less than his normal standard. "I know how to get coffee stains out of ties, and shirts. If you let me take care of them, they'll be like brand new."

Agent Williams ignored Neal's peace offering. "I don't know why anyone thought it'd be a good idea to bring you back here. You're nothing but a criminal, and a damn clumsy one!" Agent Williams raised his hand as a gesture of anger, but Neal obviously saw it as the agent getting ready to hit him because he flinched and seemed to brace himself for a blow. When one didn't come, Neal relaxed only minutely.

"They should have thrown you back in prison where you belong the moment they found you again!" Agent Williams continued to rant.

A look of panic crossed Neal's face at Agent Williams' words for a moment. The thought of confinement probably scared the young man now more than ever. Agent Williams had some clout within the FBI, but Neal was Peter's responsibility and the other agent didn't have a say in what happened to Neal. Neal probably only saw the threat as something more real than an angry agent fuming, though.

Peter was out of his chair and on his way to the scene the moment it happened. Unfortunately by the time he made it down the short set of steps and across the bullpen, Neal was shaking slightly, the thought of violence a terrifying prospect for him after everything he had gone through. Even though Agent Williams wouldn't attack Neal in the middle of the bullpen, Neal probably saw his anger and looming stature as a real threat.

"Williams!" Peter bellowed, causing Agent Williams to turn his glare at him. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked, anger clear in his voice. Peter's ever-growing instinct to protect Neal flared up once again and if Agent Williams showed a single sign of wanting to actually hurt Neal, he'd intervene immediately.

"This damn criminal spilled coffee all over my favorite tie and shirt!" Agent Williams explained as he chucked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate Neal.

Neal noticeably relaxed when he saw that Peter came to his rescue and he started sidling towards the safety of the agent while he kept a watchful eye on Agent Williams. Peter moved closer as well until he was in between Williams and his ward.

Peter had to stop himself from snapping at Williams for calling Neal a criminal - there was no point in making this worse by yelling back. It wasn't necessarily the accusation that angered Peter, but how Williams made it sound like Neal was below them and deserved to be in prison. "Did you do it on purpose?" Peter asked Neal, knowing the answer.

Neal shook his head, eyes wide with honesty. "No, it was an accident, Peter."

"Then I really don't see the point of you yelling it him, Williams," Peter said to the fuming agent.

"You're taking his side?" Williams asked incredulously. "He's a criminal!"

Peter tried, but he couldn't just stand there and let Williams insult Neal like that. "There are no sides, Agent Williams. It was an accident. And as for Neal being a criminal, he has more than proven his worth as a consultant by putting his life on the line and catching the real criminals faster than most agents, including myself, could. If anyone wants to fight me on that, you know where to find me," Peter replied in a firm and even tone, giving Williams a hard stare and not backing down in the least.

Agent Williams didn't seem very intimidated by Peter's words, but he also didn't seem to want to continue this argument. He looked over Peter's shoulder to Neal, who stepped farther behind Peter after Williams shot him his angry glare, then to Peter. "Fine, whatever," Williams muttered, then walked away, apparently seeing that farther argument would be pointless.

The brief argument had garnered quite a bit of attention. Many agents had stopped what they were doing to watch as the altercation ensued. Peter glared at them all, then took Neal by the arm and steered him to his office.

"Thanks," Neal's said once they were in Peter's office with the door closed. He smiled at Peter with so much gratefulness that Peter wasn't sure he deserved it all. All he did was tell the truth.

"Agent Williams has always been a hothead," Peter muttered as both men sat down in their respective chairs.

"When it comes to criminals," Neal uttered quietly, looking down at his shoes. He was still tense, shifty, like he was ready to jump out of his chair and make a run for it if any kind of potential danger showed itself.

"Hey," Peter said, then waited for Neal to meet his eyes. "You didn't provoke Williams. It wasn't your fault."

Neal smiled a little and relaxed into his chair, no longer so tightly wound.

"Besides, you're reformed, right?" Peter said with a knowing smirk.

Neal smiled back, obviously happy to fall back on their old bantering. "Of course, Peter. Reformed and rehabilitated."

Peter nodded along with Neal's white lie, enjoying the familiar, lighthearted feeling the bantering brought as well. "Why don't you stay in here for a while? That way we can go over the files together. We'll probably get them done faster together," he offered after a minute. It was just an excuse for them to be close to each other and Peter knew that Neal knew it.

"That sounds like a good idea," he said, his voice conveying his gratefulness as he relaxed the rest of the way.

Neal and Peter worked together on the cases that had piled up in their absence in Peter's office until it was time to leave. Neal was considerably more relaxed with Peter close to him and Peter had to admit that he felt more at ease as well.

Their relationship had definitely changed forever because of the strange bond that had been formed since Neal's rescue. Okay, their relationship had never been normal. How could have it been, being as Peter was an FBI agent and Neal was the criminal that he had chased for three years and eventually caught? All of their differences aside, they were closer now more than ever. Peter just hoped Mozzie wouldn't become jealous and try to steal Neal away from him.

As Peter drove them back to his house, he thought about their first day back after everything. He considered it a success, even if there were a few snags. Seeing how strong Neal had been during this whole ordeal, Peter had confidence that the young man would find his independence soon enough and they'd both be able to put everything behind them in time. He had improved expeditiously over the last couple of weeks and Peter knew that he'd fully return to his old self given enough time as well as help and support from his friends. He had even started talking about moving back into his apartment at June's after the regal older woman had come back from her vacation - worrying and mothering Neal nearly to death - a week ago.

If agent Williams hadn't shown up, then Neal probably would have been okay staying at his desk the whole day. He had been doing alright until then. Peter had seen how shaken up Neal had been from the brief argument, though, even if Neal had tried to hide it. Peter knew what to look for when Neal was upset while trying to act fine, now more than ever. But they both made it through the day, and they'd make it through the rest. The journey back from hell is a long one, but Peter was willing to help Neal with each step.