The Promise Chapter 2

Disclaimer : I had forgotten this in the first chapter but I do not own White Collar and no money is being made on this story. Words in italics are the characters thoughts. Spoilers abound from episodes past and from previews to come.

Thanks for all the great reviews and to my anonymous reviewers who I couldn't reply to I thank you as well.

Peter wasn't exactly sure what he expected to find when he entered Neal's apartment but what he found came as a bit of a shock.

Neal was slumped over on the couch, his shoes carefully removed ( probably courtesy of Moz) and surrounded by several empty beer bottles. Peter caught the sleeping form of his friend. His hair was matted to his face, drenched in sweat. His face was still pale but held the remainder of dried tear tracks running down his man before Peter looked like Neal, but Peter knew whatever had transpired tonight with Moz was not the Neal he knew...or better yet, the one he thought he knew.

"What happened to him?"

Peter didn't recognize his own voice at the moment.

Moz sighed as if the answer was obvious.

"He was strolling down memory lane thanks to your latest caper."

Peter swung his eyes to Moz. Caper? He should talk.

Peter pulled up a chair from the kitchen and sat down, his body weary, propped up his elbows and rested his chin on his hands.

"Care to fill me in?"

Moz bit his lower lip, struggling with his diliema. It was as if the angels heard his plea and called the Suit to the rescue. Now that he was here however ...well, revealing the truth was proving to be harder.

"This has to do with his father?"

Moz threw up a silent prayer of thanksgiving to the heavens.

"Yes. " He paused not sure of how he should word this without betraying his friend.

"How much did he tell you?"

Peter kept his eyes on Neal. While he had a feeling Neal already replayed that part and more to Moz, Peter played along, understanding the man's need not to betray a confidence.

"He told me his father was a dirty cop...killed in gunfire when he was 2."

Moz remained silent.

Peter looked to his partner's confidant.

"That's not the end of it is it?"

Moz silence answered his question.

Peter leaned back in the chair resigning himself for the long haul.

"Well, I guess we wait then."

Neal was lost in the sensations of his dreams. Men...voices...guns...lots of guns...fear...too much fear...alone

He could feel his body shivering, knew it was not real, but yet felt completely unable to stop it. Adlard's voice echoed in his head around the dark cavern he was lost among.

Be yourself. Kate will love you for who you are...as will others.

He tried to be himself. It wasn't enough. He then tried to change himself to become better, more confident, quicker, smarter, cunning. He was a loose cannon waiting to go off. The sad thing of it all was that there was only one person in the world he could go off on:

Neal Caffrey.

Neal shot up on the couch breathing hard. His arms were achy. He felt his Devore pants sticking to his legs and his shirt was suddenly suffocating. Neal ran a shaky hand through his curls smoothing them back while he took in his surroundings.

Home . He was home. Not the home he was in while dreaming but the home he was making for himself now.

He felt his breathing begin to subside from gulps of terror to calm serene...then Neal saw something or someone sitting in the dark refusing to move.

Neal's heart stopped. A rush of terror tore through him but he remained calm hoping, praying his guest was the one person he wanted desperately to see as well as ignore.

"Peter?"

The figure inched forward so more of the face was revealed but still in shadow. Neal sighed. Peter. Sometimes he felt Peter was his curse and his salvation wrapped in one.

Peter didn't say a word at first. Probably lost in the scene before him. Neal took a look around and saw through Peter's eyes: beer bottles strewned around, a young man who looked like death.

"Peter."

It seemed to be the only word Neal could speak at the moment, but the word meant everything.

Peter kept his brown eyes on his friend.

"I know."

Neal wanted to lash out at the man before him. He knew? He knew nothing. Neal felt his fists curl into the sheet carefully tossed over his body while he had been asleep.

He must have had a glare that rivaled no other for Peter began to look flustered and uncomfortable.

"What I meant was...I know something is on you mind."

Neal 's hand relaxed and he dropped his shattering gaze. God, he wanted to spill his guts to Peter but unfortunately he hadn't had that much to drink (even after 6 beers) to just go : "By the way , Peter..."

Neal released his breath and leaned back into the couch. Still, the night felt strangely quiet. Even the sound of Mozzie snoring on Neal's bed seemed muted. Maybe...maybe it was Ok to talk. Then again...

"Your dad dying when you were two wasn't the end of it was it?"

Neal kept his eyes on the floor.

"A dirty cop...they make a lot of enemies don't they?"

Neal found his head unwillingly nodding.

Peter nodded in understanding.

"Thought so. That why you got so good with guns, Neal? Throughout your life the enemies your father made and bartered would still know where to go for payback wouldn't they?"

Neal kept a steady gaze on Peter and remained silent.

God, Peter. I wish I could find the words.

"You learned a lot yourself didn't you? While the other kids played cowboys and Indians, you were playing "dad" in more ways than one. Wielding guns to protect yourself and your mom."

Neal felt the floor beginning to blur before him.

He wanted to say...that he hated it... despised cleaning the guns, loading them, practically patrolling the streets after hours at the age of 12. God if his mother had found out then...Not that it mattered anymore.

"I liked it."

Neal's confession carried on a gentle breeze. Peter's breath and Neal's silence were the only things left in the room. It was as if all the oxygen was removed. Neal had flashes from another mission , one where right before he passed out in the vault. He claimed to trust Peter.

Please Peter trust me, Peter. I can't trust myself.

"It was the power Neal. Feeling powerless, scared, you needed the power. You needed to feel safe. Believe in something."

Neal could no longer see the floor at this point and was suddenly very grateful the room was in shadows. It was as if Peter had taken a page from Neal's boyhood journal and read it aloud.

"I taught myself," the words came out sounding jumbled, forced and raw." but found others along the way. There were so many ...weapons...tools, ways to survive."

Survive. Yeah, things were not easy. His mom tried her best. Looking back on it, however , in anger, Neal realized two things: his mother lived in a fantasy world trying to keep Neal in the clouds, an illusion of safety, a perfect lie. The other truth was that she knew what her little boy had begun to do on the streets to survive...fucking survive...and she turned a blind eye.

" I had to , Peter. We wouldn't have made it. The men...my dad made enemies. I needed to survive. I taught Kate how to survive..."

Suddenly he was rambling again, his words and mind missing each other, blending the past and the what was still fresh in his mind. Peter remembered that particular part of the conversation they had a mere week ago. I taught her how to survive, Neal said. Who taught him?

Peter realized with absolute clarity that although he might have not always seen eye to eye with his parents, he had seen their eyes. They were there when he failed and when he succeeded. His dad was the kind of dad who would bust through the walls of a Burma prison to save his son. In Neal's case, his father would have locked him in and thrown away the key.

"That's why you learned to con...street cons to get food on the table."

Neal nodded once.

"What about your mom? Where was she while you were doing this?"

Neal gazed steadily into Peter's eyes as the confession escaped his lips before he could stop it.

"I killed her."

Well, hope you like. Please review. Makes me write faster.