Neal flipped through Peter's desk, quickly rummaging through everything he could get his hands on. Blood pounded in his ears and his heart raced, thumping so loud he swore Jones could hear it all the way across the building. Hell, he bet Peter could hear it back at his house while he was eating lunch with El. He felt sick and wrong. This was not what he had bargained for. He was invading the space of the only person who he trusted. But he was pressed on by this uncontrollable power over him. It was driving him mad. Peter was a part of this. His piece fit into the puzzle somehow and he just had to know where. He knew Peter had stolen the Music Box. But how? Why?
The hairs on the back of his neck rose to stand on end. He glanced up into the glass and what he saw in the reflection made his heart stop and his blood run cold. He stood slowly, closing the desk draw.
"This isn't what you think it is." He stammered knowing full well it was what Peter thought it was. He visibly cringed waiting for the onslaught of verbal abuse and threats about prison that he knew was about to come his way. But nothing came. He peeked open one eye. Peter was standing in the door way. A stricken look frozen on his face. Neal whished he would do something. Say anything. He even wished Peter would hit him.
"Get. Out." The voice was barely a whisper, cold and steady. Neal heard the undertone of hurt that crept into the edges of his friend's voice.
"Peter, I can explain-"
"Go home Neal." The voice commanded. Neal shuffled to the door. Peter moved to let him pass. Neal hesitated.
"I'll call you when, if, I figure out what to do about this." Neal quickly walked to his desk, keeping his head down. His chest hurt, it was constricting. Holding his heart in a standstill. He grabbed his coat, fumbling to put it on, not even having the heart to put his hat on despite the cold, snowy New York winter. He glanced back to see Peter siting at his desk head in hands, Dianna standing over him. He wiped tears as the elevator doors shut.