FAR FROM HOME

AN: This is a different kind of story for me. I have never really dealt with this topic before. I don't know anyone how is an alcoholic, surprisingly enough. I do know people who drink, of course, but since I don't, this is unfamiliar territory for me. So, please forgive my inaccuracies. Thanks for reading, Jackie

And, as always, Ms. Beta, ccluvshorses101, thanks so much.

It had been a couple of weeks since Neal Caffrey had left New York, under the care of his new handler, Agent Phillip Kramer of D.C. Art Crimes.

"I don't like this, El." Peter said as he paced his living room floor. "I…I wanted…I thought Kramer would let Neal call me. That Kramer would…. I mean I could understand at first, with adjustment and all, but now…." Peter shook his head.

"He's fine." El reassured him, though she didn't really feel right about the situation either. She was also concerned that there had been no contact.

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It had been two weeks of hell. Neal thought has he closed another file folder. He looked at the mountain of folders on his desk. He had been given busy work, desk work, with Kramer only pulling him away to consult in a limited capacity.

Neal sighed. There was no real relief when he got 'home' either. He had been put up in a tiny hotel across the street, and he had been given a half-mile radius. He was allowed a cell phone with a limited local call area. And he was given a 'pay as you' go debit card, with Kramer approving all purchases.

Kramer had laid down the rules early. Neal was to address him only as Agent Kramer or Sir. Neal was to work only on cases assigned to him. He would only be allowed to do field work after he had 'proven' himself. The exact period of time this 'proving' would take was undetermined. He was allowed no contact with Agent Burke for the first month. This particular stipulation Kramer had not mentioned until after Neal had arrived in D.C.

Neal didn't like it, not at all. But he was quickly learning the more he protested the more restrictions Kramer placed on him. So Neal just nodded and smiled, swallowing his anger and resentment.

Agent Kramer was very happy with his new charge. He had a very talented, intelligent young man at his disposal. And all Kramer had to do was say 'Jump,' and Neal Caffrey would ask 'How high?' Neal's knowledge and expertise was exactly what D.C. Art Crimes nodded. Peter had let Neal run amuck. Agent Kramer would not let that happen. In his mind, Neal was good for only one thing, his criminal expertise. As far as Kramer was concerned, Neal should be so grateful to get out of prison and to have the opportunity to work with the FBI. Neal should not ask for anything else. Kramer felt the cell phone and debit card had been too much. Neal had no one to call and no money to spend.

Neal felt the noose tightening around his neck a little more every day. He had tried to call Peter and El, with no luck. The phone wouldn't allow calls outside the local area, he soon found out. He had tried to call from the lobby of the building where the payphone was located. But the clerk told him the hotel manager didn't allow long-distance calls. Neal had tried using the phone to text, but it didn't have that feature. He asked about using a computer at the desk and sending an email. But he was told Kramer would not allow him access.

The spiral started slowly. Neal would go back to the tiny room that was his apartment. He would sit in his dirty, ugly recliner and drink. He bought only the good stuff at first, but later anything that contained alcohol would do. He would sit and drink, stare at his anklet, miss his friends and family in New York and wonder what became of his life.

Neal then started coming into the office drunk. Well, not exactly drunk, but Kramer could smell the alcohol on his breath. "You're not going to get that field work you wanted so badly this way, Caffrey." Kramer warned.

Neal would nod. He did understand, but that understanding did nothing to stop the behavior. One morning Neal didn't even bother coming in for work. And Kramer found him passed out in his recliner, sitting in front of the TV.

"Neal!" Kramer said as he roughly shook Neal's shoulder.

Neal opened his eyes and looked up. "Oh, Agent Kramer…" He slurred. He looked around the room. Sunlight was pouring into the room. Neal would have, sworn only a few moments ago, it had been pitch black outside. "…time for work."

Neal staggered into the bedroom and returned a few moments later. He had on a stained shirt, buttoned incorrectly. His tie was askew, and his pants were nearly falling off of him. It was only then that Kramer noticed Neal's significant weight loss.

"Caffrey!" Kramer said, appalled by the sight in front of him.

"Ready for work, Sir." Neal announced as he tried to step forward, but nearly tripped over his own feet.

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

"I can do the job, Sir." Neal slurred, slightly. "I can."

"You need help, Neal." Kramer replied, seeing the extent of Neal's drinking as he looked around the apartment and counted the number of empty beer bottles. "You really do." He added.

"If you really, truly wanted to help me…" Neal stated bitterly. "…you would have left me in New York."

Agent Phillip Kramer looked at the young man in front of him. He had not seen it at first. But he had broken Neal's spirit. He, at the time, deemed it necessary for Neal to break all his New York ties. Kramer thought that that would make the transition to D.C. less painful. But all Kramer had accomplished was to drive Neal over brink. He had caused this. Kramer did the only thing he knew to do. He placed a call to a certain agent in New York City.

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"So…you're done?" Peter asked Neal as soon as he entered Neal's apartment.

Neal nodded. He threw his chip down on the table.

"Twelve steps, huh?" Peter picked up the chip and examined it.

"What…what's going to happen? I…the whole drinking thing...I didn't mean…."

Peter nodded. "…not your fault…entirely."

"I chose to drink to escape, Peter." Neal said. "Nobody poured it down my throat."

"Kramer had that leash pretty tight around your neck." Peter sat down at Neal's kitchen table. "And I told Hughes you were going to AA. That you have meetings several times a week. He knows…he knows you, Neal. He knows the extenuating circumstances. Reese even said he would contemplate something drastic after he heard what Kramer had done to you."

Neal shook his head. "How did….?"

"Kramer felt so bad he met and talked with Reese after he returned you to New York. After he called me the morning he found you in your apartment." Peter explained.

Neal shook his head again. "I don't, I didn't used to drink like that, Peter."

Peter nodded. "I know. And you won't again. We'll see to it. You're home now. You've got your friends here, people who care."

Contuned- (I just thought that there was more to tell.)

End Note: I am not entirely sure that Neal would be classified as an alcoholic. But I do think that he and Peter would be proactive in dealing with any problems Neal might have.