Outside his door Neal could hear the rustling and muted conversations of Peter and Elizabeth getting ready for their day. They liked having their mornings together; he was typically let out half an hour after they had their breakfast. Most days he just got his list of chores as they headed out the door, it was rare now for one of them to stay home to watch him.

They would leave him a plate of breakfast kept warm in the oven, and the leisure to get ready at his own time. He treasured those mornings where he could shower as long as he wanted (long hot safe showers were still enough of a novelty to be a treat), and he had time to himself. As long as he got his list done, what they didn't know couldn't hurt him.

And that gave him the time to draw.

He sketched on whatever he could pilfer from recycling. He drew tiny, long scenes on the back of paper from the shredder. He didn't dare root around for better paper, not knowing how much attention they paid to those supplies and he really didn't want this taken from him. They were consistent in punishing things they didn't approve of and he wasn't sure what they'd think of this. Even if they didn't mind, it would be something they could use against him later.

They didn't hurt him, he knew he should be thankful for that. They didn't touch him sexually, they didn't beat him, despite being completely within their rights to do so, should they feel the need. They just giveth and taketh away, as they saw fit. But they couldn't take something away if they didn't know about it. It was a small secret, but it was his.

So he fed everything he made through the shredder once it was finished.

He sat up when he heard the key rattling in the padlock outside his door and smiled when Elizabeth poked her head in.

"Good morning Neal, would you come into the kitchen? We need to have a talk."

Neal's stomach sank. A talk. That didn't sound good.

Still he rolled to his feet and dutifully followed. Putting off a punishment never made it any easier, and sometimes he got brownie points for accepting things.

Peter was just he finished up the dishes (doing the dishes, always Neal's job), he glanced of his shoulder at Neal. "Have a seat, you want some coffee?" (coffee, a very rare treat)

That wasn't at all what he expected. Neal froze in the doorway, a moment of panic while he tried to figure out the angle, what the scam was, the ways this would end badly, the ways he could manipulate the outcome. Then he scrambled to school his expression into something, anything but the bad-habit blank face he knew he must be showing. Mozzie had teased him about that tell of a face, but it was rare he got caught so flatfooted. Showing a second of blank was better than a wrong emotion anyway- he tried to kick his brain out of the rambling shock.

Then Peter smirked at him and he knew that Peter knew full well what Neal's expression meant and damnit, now he could manage rueful.

He sat.

By the time Neal had managed to get himself into 'pleasant and curious' Peter had brought him coffee and them at the table.

"You'll be joining us for meals now, when we're both home. During the meals you'll be free to speak however you like. Is there anything that you'd like to say now?"

Neal paused, digesting that information, and the surge of relief. A gift. Daily conversation. He wasn't in trouble.

"Thank you. I look forward to it." Neal mentally winced at the overly formal phrasing. After weeks of biting back words and holding his tongue it was difficult let the words flow. "I think the silence has been the hardest part of all this." He laughed a little, aiming for light-hearted self-deprecation, pleased it came out only a little forced.

"We've noticed" came Peter's dry response. Elizabeth shot him a sharp look and he continued, "We'll be changing things up a little in the next week or so. Just, don't start getting stupid."

Neal nodded, falling back into the safety of silence as they bustled out of the house. He could read the undercurrents of Peter's warning well enough: the longer leash might be just enough to hang himself.


There was a pile of folders left on the table.

Peter had spent breakfast complaining about meetings that would take all day. Elizabeth had tried not to gloat too hard about the fact she was going to be spending the day at tastings for potential new caterers.

Peter's folders. Peter's work. Probably unintentionally left in the morning rush. Possibly left as a trap. Neal spent a long time staring at them.

He ran out of interesting books in the house weeks ago, and then ran out of books he hadn't read. The cycle of creation and destruction of his art was wearing. He just wanted to be productive, to do something. He remembered the scams the forgeries, that brilliant moment when he could point to a thing and say 'that, I did that' and he felt alive.

He'd have to move the stack to finish his cleaning tasks. That made perfect sense. And oh look, one of them fell. His hand hovered over the pile. At this point it was an accident. But Peter would be coming home grumpy and he might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb.

And besides, he had loads of time before Peter came home. At they very least, this would be more interesting than daytime TV.

Turned out it was a lot more interesting. The Dutchman. He could see why this work came home with him. Peter's team had been chasing leads all over. There wasn't anything concrete until they got a tip off on suitcases full of books? He flicked through the folder. A bond. The importer who was killed had visited the archives for a bond, twice... he read more.

The first visit made sense for research, the second had no purpose. He leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling. The books. Published the same year as the bonds. The size of the bond, slightly smaller than the books.

Forgeries.

They were planning on forging the bonds.

So why the second visit? A forger good enough to pull this off would know what they needed on the first visit and not risk the second.

He pulled out the copy the FBI had of the bond in the archives. A magnifying glass. He needed a magnifying glass.

Rooting though Peter's office would be impossible to hide. A few drops of water and something plastic would work well enough.

He felt the familiar rush of potential as he moved quickly into the kitchen, looking for a lid, a washer something round. And found a magnifying glass.

Of course Peter would have a magnifying glass in his kitchen junk drawer.

It didn't take long before he found what he was looking for. Curtis Hagen. He knew who the Dutchman was and what his plan was.

Now what.

He had to tell Peter. But Peter would be pissed. He could just put the files back, blame any disorder on the cleaning. But he'd cracked the case how could he not tell?

He was standing over the table, covered in papers when the door banged open. "Neal?"

Fuck.

"Neal." Peter's voice was full of very careful restraint as he came into view of the table. Neal tried not to flinch away. "What are you doing?"

"I know who the Dutchman is."

"Back away from the table. Kneel. Hands on your head" Peter's voice was hard. Neal complied without hesitation, not wanting to anger Peter further. Of all the days for Peter to get home on time, of all the times for him to loose track of time. He stayed there, barely breathing while Peter went through the files on the table. Probably looking for what I took, Neal thought as the fear blended into anger.

He did like the Burkes, and he felt he'd been remarkably well behaved. He hadn't even tried to run once. And they repaid him with boredom, distrust and the occasional minor privilege, which he was expected to be appropriately grateful for. He tried to ignore the small voice pointing out that that was exactly how he did feel and concentrated on the wood grain of the flooring. He was just starting to zone out when Peter threw down the file he was looking at and moved to loom over him.

"Why did you look at the files?"

Neal looked up towards Peter and had his head unceremoniously pushed downwards again.

"I was polishing the table and I knocked the pile-" he said, watching Peter's feet.

"That's a 5-year-old's excuse, Neal, I thought you were smarter than that."

"Exactly!" Neal snapped. He clenched his hands against each other, feeling the tension creep in his back and shoulders and knew that Peter would also be able to see it through the thin t-shirt he was wearing, but he couldn't be bothered to hide his frustration.

"Before you arrested me I was a world renowned art thief. I spent my days being better than some of the most intelligent people in the planet. Sine you've arrested me I haven't let this house. I'm bored out of my head here! Daytime TV is utterly inane. Your personal library leaves much to be desired. The most stimulating thing you've let me do is make dinner. Then you leave this puzzle in the middle of the table, and expect me to just dust around it?"

"I expected you to behave and obey the rules."

Neal seethed. "Well then this little crusade is doomed from it's start if you expected that your gentle teachings could turn me into a perfect little house-boy."

"They could become less gentle" Peter growled pushing further into Neal's space.

"Then do it!" Neal stared up at Peter defiantly. "Hit me, fuck me, do something! You know the law doesn't care what happens. But I'm not going to be sorry for solving your damn case."

There was a long, long pause. Neal felt a flash of fear that he had pushed Peter too far, but he forced himself to keep his posture open and refused to look away.

"Fine, you want to get out of the house, you'll get out." Peter snatched up a basket of restraints, grabbed Neal's collar and dragged him, stumbling, to his feet and out to the back porch.

"Stay" He snapped as Neal started to drop his hands. Neal barely caught the force on his elbows instead of with his face as he was shoved into the siding. Peter tugged Neal's arms down slightly to cuff his wrists to the back of the collar. The leash was clipped to the front and tied off to a support intended for a hanging plant.

It wasn't cold out, but the weather was grey and drizzly. Peter ignored the way Neal was trying to hunch in on himself against the weather and went back inside to calm down. Whatever had to happen next, it wasn't going to happen when he was angry.

He sat at the table, trying to figure out what Neal had found that they had missed. Something in the bond, from the magnifying glass on the table. He set an alarm on his phone, a reminder not to forget about his felon outside, and set to work.

He was still struggling when his phone rang. "Elizabeth," he sighed with relief.

"Peter? What happened?"

"Neal solved the Dutchman case" he admitted. "I accidentally left the files here, and came back to find him elbows deep in them." Peter rubbed at the headache forming between his eyes. "I don't know how he solved it, but he claims he knows who the Dutchman is."

"Why don't you just ask him?"

"Because he's currently tied outside cooling his heels before one of us did something stupid."

"Ah. Well, I was calling to tell you I'd be getting home early. Do you want me to pick up dinner?"

"You'd better" Peter leaned in his chair to check on Neal through the window. Neal had dropped his arms in as tight as he could with his hands tied behind his neck, and was shifting restlessly from foot to foot to keep warm. "Something warm, and easy to reheat."


Neal tried to angle himself to get a glimpse in the window. It looked like Elizabeth had finally come home. He shivered, the cold seeping into his bones, and shifted awkwardly, both wanting and dreading Peter's return.

He flinched when the door opened and Peter came out. Peter's hands felt burning hot where they touched his chilled skin and he couldn't help but lean into the warmth as Peter dragged him into the dining room. The edge of the table cut into hips as he was bent over it. Peter tugged his pants down as Elizabeth took a chair by his head, reaching out to tangle her fingers through his hair, and hold his hand.

He thought he'd appreciate for the numbness when he realized what was happening, but then the first leather thud hit, and the force of the paddle penetrated deep deep deep and he realized it wouldn't make a difference.

He struggled slightly, just to see where it would get him but the hand in his hair just tightened and he couldn't get the leverage to go anywhere. He made a little noise and was told to hush, just hush.

Peter paused in the spanking to sooth the skin with his hand. "If you want to talk you can count, but otherwise hush."

The world faded into nothing more than sensation: the gentle fingers in his hair; the deep pain in his thighs and ass. Eventually there were just the soft touches on his face and he realized his face was damp and his hands were free. A warm blanket was spread across his back, and when he started to stir gentle hands helped him stand and tucked him in on the couch.

"Neal? Hey, Neal. Come on back to us."

He was reluctant to open his eyes, he just wanted to rest in the warmth for a while longer. Apparently reading the files was a big deal. He didn't quite understand that but he could work with that idea. It would have been nice to have known that before the bruises, but this soft warm cocoon was nice. There was rustling and quiet voices, then the warm smell of curry and rich spices.

That was enough to get him to open his eyes to see Peter and Elizabeth and a coffee table full of re-heated Thai takeout.

"Here." Elizabeth presented him with a plate. "Eat and we'll talk."

Neal shifted gingerly into a sitting position, pulling the blanket tight around his shoulders as he got settled with the plate. "What are we talking about?"

"What just happened" Peter sat down, plate on his lap. "Neal, we do want to give you a chance to become useful. But you realize why digging through personal files wasn't acceptable."

Neal nodded, picking absently at the food and refrained from pointing out that they weren't Peter's files they were the FBI's files. He didn't think it would help the situation. "I'm sorry."

"You're right though, it's unfair to expect you to do nothing all day, and if you did manage to crack this case it proves you could be very useful. I'll talk to my boss we'll see if we can figure something out, maybe get some cases for you to consult on." He paused to stare Neal straight on, his face deadly serious. "If you try to use this opportunity to play me, or the bureau, I will stop you."

That was unexpected. Not the warning, that was pretty par for the course for conversations with Peter. But after everything that had happened today, he didn't expect Peter to take his side. It was almost worth the beating.

"Now" Peter leaned forward, and Neal felt himself responding to Peter's eager anticipation. "You wanna tell me about what you found on the Dutchman?"


After a week of Neal working through cases at home under Peter's careful supervision, he was granted permission to shadow Peter at the office.

When they had left the house, Neal had been eager, pleased with the change of scenery, deftly managing the length of the required leash trailing from his collar Peter's hand.

Neal's chipper demeanour didn't last though. He tried, Peter could tell, but the stares and the comments all wore him down. He had danced through various personas, shuffling them like cards in a deck. Flirtatious became whore. Happy became slut. Disdainful or any attempt to not notice looks turned the comments pointed mutterings of 'deserves to be beaten down'.

Peter's presence had been requested at a crime scene downtown. They'd been dropped there only to discover that the scene hadn't been fully processed yet. Neal wasn't allowed in. A felon's presence would invalidate anything found inside.

He also couldn't be left loose.

Peter locked him to a street sign, Neal looking wary. And of course Peter had gotten caught up with idiotic questions. By the time he had gotten back outside to collect his felon, a man and a woman had Neal backed up right against the pole, with the woman pressed up against his front, pinning him in place while she explored him with her lips and hands. The leash dangled down his back and tangled Neal's hands in the small of his back, where the man held him in place, urging his girlfriend along.

"Hey!" Peter felt a spark of something as the pair jerked away and Neal's wide eyes met his. "Back off!"

"He's just a thing." The man muttered as they moved away.

"A federal thing" Peter corrected, as he freed Neal's hands and unlocked his leash from the pole. Neal slipped smoothly behind Peter to stand half a pace behind his shoulder, Peter could feel the tension radiating from him. So far the couple's actions barely counted as a misdemeanour, but Peter dared them to push it. Instead they walked off and Peter turned his attention to Neal instead.

"You okay?"

"Yeah" Neal sighed, and all the tension left him. He ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to neaten the after-effects of the woman's explorations. "Just... it's been a day."

Peter watched him carefully, but his body language matched his words; tired, worn down, a little faded, but not damaged.

"Let's get back then. We'll find some nice interesting unsolved cases and hole up in my office for the rest of the day."

That got a flicker of a smile.

Now Neal was quietly following half a step to Peter's left, his head down and his hands quietly folded behind his back. Peter sighed but there wasn't much he could do about that now.

Half a block before the FBI building, Neal tugged on his leash to get Peter's attention, then paused with his hand slightly raised for permission to speak.

"Before we go in, do you mind?" He nodded towards the knot of smokers outside the building, "After today, I need a smoke."

Peter scanned the knot noticing Jones, and a silhouette familiar from Caffrey's surveillance photos. He was pretty positive that it wasn't nicotine Neal was looking for, but after today he didn't have the heart to deny him.

"Go ahead"

For the second time that day Peter pulled out Neal's leash lock and attached him to a handy pole. He ignored the new tension in Neal's shoulders, and passed off the key to Jones with instructions to bring Neal in once they were done. As he was walking away, the small strange man sidled up to Neal to offer him a cigarette and got an real smile in return.

Jones would keep an eye on Neal, and a moment with a friend might help counter the rest of the day.


Once home, Neal waited just long enough to be released from his leash before shutting himself in his room.

"Honey?" Elizabeth came downstairs, looking curiously at Peter. "Did something happen?"

Peter pulled his wife in tight. "Neal just had a bit of a rough day adjusting to how people see him now."

He could feel Elizabeth nod against his chest. "A good day for a present then?"

"Yeah" Peter felt a smile edge onto his face. "Yeah a good day for that"

Elizabeth leaned into his chest to give him a quick peck before going upstairs to retrieve a thin sketch pad and pack of pencils. A quick scrawled note on the cover, There's more where this came from!, and she slid them under Neal's door.

They'd bring him a plate when supper was ready.