Ten minutes later and armed with a hopefully calmer mind, Peter heaved himself up slowly from Neal's chair and made the weary ascent to the conference room. His gut churned with a familiar bout of reluctance, and he hoped fervently that Neal wouldn't force him to dish out any more than a firm lecture.

His wife's voice danced in the background of his mind, but for once, she had also come up short as to a potential cause of the kid's foul humour and equally foul attitude.

He found himself outside the room of the much used, just by him and Neal, conference room and he hesitated.

He really didn't want to get into it with the kid, but he had a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach that the reforming con wasn't going to give him any choice.

Squaring his shoulders, he remembered what El had said about the need for consistency, and he strode purposefully into the room.

There, with his feet up on the table and staring angrily ahead, was Neal.

So much for the hope that he would have a better attitude.

Snapping the door shut, Peter marched around the table and eyed his reprobate sternly. The blue eyes staring back at him held no strains of remorse, only to his alarm, a growing bout of mutiny.

Repressing a sigh, he kept a hold of his own growing temper. Which was hard, because no one else on the earth pushed his buttons like the dark haired boy glowering up at him.

"Feet down" he rebuked quietly, "and straighten up."

Groaning loudly, Neal very slowly, and very deliberately plucked his expensive shoes off of the surface top.

"Thank you."

There was a quiet for a moment, as the elder of the two wondered what to say next.

He needn't have bothered.

He was beaten to it.

"Go on then, let me have it" Neal suddenly exploded, throwing his arms out in frustration, "we both know you want to."

Closing his eyes wearily, Peter shook his head.

"I never want to Neal, never."

The quiet tone, ringing with sincerity almost seemed to deflate whatever balloon of anger was besieging the younger man, but not quite.

"Whatever" he mumbled mutinously, staring down at his lap.

Biting his tongue, Peter pulled a chair from his side of the table and dragged it around to Neal's side, plopping himself down beside him.

He pretended not to notice the grimace that materialised in response, though he couldn't pretend to himself that it didn't sting.

"I'm not going to yell, I'm not going to lecture" he began gently, "I just want to know what's eating you. This behaviour…it's not like you."

The disbelieving and exasperated look sent his way was his answer.

"I mean it Neal" he contradicted, "you drive me insane with your capers yes,but you're never…well, moody."

The protesting squawk that answered him wasn't entirely unexpected.

"Moody?" Neal spluttered in outrage, "moody?"

His lips quivered in indignation.

"I am not moody."

Peter merely raised a sceptic brow.

"Really bud? You all but throw a tantrum because you ask me for something you know I can't do, and then you sit in a strop with me for hours? That's not being moody? It's not just today either, you've been tense for a while now."

He paused, sucking in air.

"Neal, is everything ok?"

His cheeks reddened, but he went for it anyway.

"Are you uhh…are you upset about uhh a girl, or anything?"

Neal stared blankly, before closing his eyes in despair.

"Peter" he mumbled "for the love of God please don't go there."

Not wanting to go anywhere near there, Peter nodded absentmindedly in agreement.

"Then what is it?" he urged, "c'mon kid…I don't want to have to drag you in here anymore than you want to be dragged, so how about you do us both a favour and just tell me what's up?"

For a brief wonderful moment, it seemed like Neal was going to comply, seemed like his blue eyes were filled with that uncertainty that tore at Peter's heart, but usually led to revelations.

…and then it was gone.

The blue eyes clouded over, and the body posture tightened and stiffened.

"I'm sorry for how I spoke to you" the younger man ground out, not sounding the least bit sorry, "it won't happen again ok?"

He paused for breath.

"Can I go now?"

Eying him sadly, Peter shook his head.

"No, not until we get to the bottom of this. I can tell you're upset about something, and I wish you would talk to me about it. At the same time, I cannot, and I will not have you mouthing off to me in the middle of my own office."

The air temperature suddenly took a dip into the negative figures.

"Of course" Neal replied scathingly, "I must dance to your tune wherever and whenever you decide to play it. Forgive me, I forgot myself."

The icy tone that was being used shocked Peter more than he would ever admit.

Running a hand through his hair in frustration, he battled with himself to remain calm.

"Neal" he gritted out, "I'm warning you, that attitude will only end one way for you."

Laughing an eerily insincere laugh, the kid merely shook his head.

"Shocker, I never would have guessed."

Before Peter could respond, a dam of pent of rage seemed to burst from within the kid.

…and then he was on his feet.

Pacing, angrily. Gesticulating, angrily.

"You want to know what's wrong with me?" he all but screeched in an astonished Peter's direction, "you really want to know?"

Nodding slowly in horrified amazement, the elder man watched as the kid stopped his furious pacing for just a minute to place his leg on a nearby chair, wrenching up his pant leg.

Pointing at the exposed anklet with an ire that Peter had never seen before, Neal's opened his mouth to deliver another torrent of acidic explanation.

"It's this" he snarled, "it's being in the best years of my life, and being tethered like some circus animal to a two freaking mile radius. It's being one of the best assets this dump has, and still being treated like the lowliest of unpaid interns."

He drew in a ragged breath.

"It's not being able to ever meet a decent girl. Not being able to explain why I can't go to their place, because their place is on the other side of town. It's about not being trusted to have an even minimal increase after three years."

Another shuddering breath.

"It's about…it's about being chained."

With that, the blue eyes snapped shut in a still radiating rage, and the leg was yanked back down the ground.

Whatever Peter was prepared to hear, it wasn't that.

His mind creaked under the pressure of the information.

What the hell was the kid saying?

That he was sick of his deal? That he was sick of…him?"

His gut churned mercilessly, as the brown eyes took in the rigid form of the kid in front of him.

"Neal" he eventually murmured weakly, "you're serving out a prison sentence. You're not here for the sea and sun. You've gotten the best deal I've ever seen, and you should be grateful."

In hindsight, and with the aid of a beer, he would come to realise that this was the wrong thing to say.

The piercing eyes flew open, and the contempt that they harboured was astounding.

Peter flinched slightly.

This was not the Neal he knew, this was not the Neal he'd taken under his wing.

"Yeah" came the quiet voice, loaded with a vibrating anger "I probably should. Like a good little servant boy, grateful for any and all table scraps, right?"

Peter began to rise, shaking his head.

"Neal, I-"

An artistic hand was held up in a silencing gesture, and despite the situation, Peter balked at the audacity.

"Go screw yourself Peter."

Within a blink of an eye, a brown eye, the young man had crossed the room and the door had been thrown open.

Within the blink of another eye, a brown eye, he was halfway down the stairs.

The shouted and loaded "Neal, you get back here right now" was lost to him, and halfway down the stairs quickly became the full way down the stairs, pausing only momentarily at a desk on the way.

The older voice made it to the door, as the younger voice made it to the exit.

Within the blink of another eye, a blue eye, he was gone.

…the severed anklet, and the heavy scissors, the only things left in his wake were lying on the floor.

TBC