The sound of the door slamming shut, Peter's closing word on the matter, is still echoing over and over in Neal's head minutes later. He's left staring at the twin packs of pencils in his lap. A bitter-sweet symbol of the finality of his precarious situation.

"Alright Caffrey, spill," Diana demands, breaking the heavy silence and spinning her chair to face him. "What did you do to tip the boss over the edge this time?"

Shaking off the dejected feeling of abandonment, Neal props his feet up and tips his own chair back to stare up at the ceiling. "Absolutely nothing."

He resolutely doesn't look at her, knowing the expression of disbelief sure to be spoiling her face. Despite his outward display of bravado, Neal can't deny the hint of underlying anxiety scratching its way to the surface. Normally he's better than this, normally Peter taking time-out from him wouldn't cause such a visceral reaction, and he certainly wouldn't need to think twice about playing minds games with Diana. She knows better than to take anything he says at face value, hence her many and repeated threats to dismember him. But today he's not in the mood to play, only he didn't know he wasn't in the mood until she'd asked the question and he found himself unable to come up a retort better than complete denial.

Panicking not being his style, Neal pushes back the part of him that feels hurt by Peter's dismissive handling and channels one of his other identities to cover for him.

Turning in Diana's direction, it's Nick Haldon who offers her a tight-lipped grin. "Come on, Diana," his eyes twinkle, "you know me."

"Exactly." She nods, not fooled in the slightest. "Even on your most irritating days he keeps you on a tight leash."

"Oh really?" Nick drops his feet flat to the floor, "I hadn't noticed." Leaning forward he calmly whispers, "talk to him for me. Please." He flutters his lashes. "He'll listen to you."

Neal hadn't been expecting miracles, a grin, maybe a sarcastic chuckle, but Diana's expression remains blank, completely unmoved by his plea for assistance. In an effort to gain some sympathy he counters her none reaction by widening Nick's smile, showing all of his pearly white teeth. He's about to take the charade a step further and draw her into a staring contest to see if he can fare any better against her tan he did early with Peter, but before the thought's even processed, she snaps her head back, breaking into raucous laughter.

It's Neal - not Nick - who rears back, utterly confused.

Diana calms as quickly as she'd cracked, and looking him dead in the eye, lips pulled into a grim line, she dashes all hope with one coolly delivered word. "No."

Answer delivered she spins her chair back around to face the van's small screen, handily split into four each segment showcases a different entrance to the warehouse across the street

Neal blinks, frozen in place. "No?"

"That's right Caffrey." A hand in his face, palm out in warning. "No. And don't ask again."

Feeling more than a little irritated by her succinct dismissal, Neal drops his gaze and finds himself yet again staring at the packets of pencils still resting on top of the pad of paper in front of him. Cellophane untouched, a price tag baring the Bowne & Co. signature in the top left corner.

"So, who we watching?" He asks after sitting in silence for far too long, needing a distraction from his quandary over the pencils and the fluttering sensation slowly building in his stomach. An unfortunate and all too familiar reaction to being in the van.

"Ongoing investigation." Diana answers cryptically, and tiredly, after a second's indecision. "Taking images of everyone who comes and goes for now."

When it's clear no further information is going to be freely given Neal gives into the urge to move and shifts in his seat, getting a better look at the single black and white screen. "Looking for someone… in particular?"

Diana glares at him and his fidgety movements.

"Who?" Neal's intrigue is piqued by the mystery.

"How about you tell me what you did to piss Peter off, then I'll decide if you're allowed to know."

Eyebrows drawn together in mock offence at her snappishness, he decides he can't pass on the opportunity to put a dent in her Peter pedestal. "Have you considered I may not have done anything and it's actually Peter being overly Petery today?"

"Overly what?" She frowns at him.

"You know how he gets." Neal shrugs. Shifting once more, leaning back and exchanging one crossed leg for the other. "He's obsessive and once he gets an idea in his head there's no changing his mind. The man could make being over protective an Olympic sport."

Ignoring his very reasoned explanation for Peter's gruff behaviour she predictably turns all the blame back onto him. "Because I know Peter and I know you." Her eyes are back on the screen, but Neal knows that icy stare is meant for him. "And I know you did something bad enough that clearly being around you is too much right now."

The idea that she might be right, that just being around him is too much for his friend to bear stings. It's too close to what he's been thinking recently, in the early hours of the morning when he wakes up to an empty room and experiences a moment of pure terror, that he's back there. He often wants to call out, demand Peter stay with him to keep the bad dreams at bay. He doesn't of course. As much as that childish part of him wants the undivided attention he's smart enough to know how inappropriate that is, not to mention embarrassing.

Doesn't help him deal with the memories any better though. They still haunt him, day or night, they sneak up on him at the most inopportune moments… it's why he never saw the car coming…

"Hey?"

Neal closes his eyes, pushes the images of that house, that room away. "I had a little accident." He says slowly, giving in.

She snorts. "You make it sound like you wet your pants."

Neal throws his head back and sighs at the ceiling once again, irritated none of his usual methods of enticing sympathy are working today. "I was nearly hit by a car, alright?" He taps the bandage on his forehead for good measure. "You'd think that would get me a little compassion, but no, I get Peter shouting at me and dragging me around like… like…"

"A brat?" She glares at him. "Because that's exactly how you've been acting recently. You remember what happened last week?"

"Don't," Neal's turn to hold his hand up in warning, "remind me."

Her eyes find his and her glares softens minutely. "How?"

"How what?" Neal snaps back, gaze falling back on those damn pencils.

Diana rolls her eyes, indicating she clearly knows the game he's playing and is frustrated it's taken him this long to work out she knows and how dare he be annoyed that she hasn't fallen for it. "How do you nearly get hit by a car?"

He pushes back his fringe to expose the plaster. "By jumping out of the way and hitting my head on the sidewalk." Neal mimics her tone and expression, but falls short of sticking out his tongue.

Had this been Peter such behaviour wouldn't have even occurred to him, but Diana's not Peter, even though she pretends to be sometimes.

"Was Peter hurt?"

"He wasn't there." Neal dismisses, picking up the pencils and the paper, throwing the lot into the nearest draw.

"You left, didn't you?" She concludes. "You left the office when you know that's the one thing Peter has told you not to do. That's why he's mad and making me babysit you."

Neal manages to keep his expression emotionless, right up until the very end, until he hears that word. "Stop!" He stands, throwing his hands in the air, pacing the small space. "I wish everyone would just… just stop! I should be allowed to go for a damn coffee when I want one!"

"This is about you getting coffee?"

Neal looks at her and shrugs. "Seriously? That's what you want to focus on? I thought you were fully in favor of the 'not having to watch me at work' thing." He stares her down, daring her to correct him and use the 'b' word again.

"I'm in favor of not giving Peter a heart attack as well." Diana shoots back, voice rising in volume capturing all of the irritation she directs at him almost daily. "Do you have any idea what he went through while you were missing?"

"What he went through?!" Neal screams back at her, determined to be heard over the roaring in his ears, pushing back the echo of memories he doesn't want. "No, I don't and you know why?" He can feel his face heat, blood boiling beneath his skin, so hot he's sure he'd burn anyone who touched him. "Because I was drugged! I was drugged… and tied up … and - and felt up by some guy who had no intention of ever letting me go!"

The second the last syllable leaves his lips Neal knows he's fucked up. Three weeks. Three weeks of 'I'm fines' and bright smiles and 'I don't remembers.' Three weeks of everyone indulging Peter's needs and unpredictable behaviour, of being babied to the point of frustration.

Three weeks and he'd managed not to say one goddamn word about what really happened to him during those missing forty-eight hours.

Until now.

Chest heaving, eyes wide, he has no idea where to look or what to say next. He can hardly take it back and say he was joking. Who jokes about something like that?

Ruiz maybe.

But not him.

Diana does know him unfortunately, not as well as Peter but well enough to understand where his lines are drawn. "Neal-" her hand reaches out to him.

The anger might be gone from her eyes, but he steps back in an instinctive move that he's sure looks all too much like a flinch. The air in the van is suddenly none existent. Clawing at his collar Neal fights his tie loose. Lips pressed tight, tears of frustration pushing to be set free his stare meets hers in silence and before he knows it his feet are moving, heading out the door.

"Hey Boss," Jones catches Peter as he passes by his desk. "Got todays case summaries for you to review before debriefing tomorrow."

Peter backs up a step. "We any closer on the Mortenson real estate scandal?"

"Not this time." Jones stands and walks with him up the stairs. "There's still about a decade's worth of sales and purchase deeds to sort through."

"Sounds like a good job for Neal." Peter looks at the collection in his hands and grins.

"I'm sure he'll be pleased to hear that." Jones watches Peter closely, he's well aware things are not back to normal, but since the morning's excitement it's clear some Caffrey free time has done the boss good.

"Whatever keeps him occupied and out of trouble." Peter affirms, walking into his office. "I can't dump him on Diana every day."

Jones hums, debating whether to say anything. Peter catches his expression though so decides to plough ahead and ask what they've all been wondering lately.

"How is he doing?"

"Neal?" Peter waits a beat before answering. "He's okay, some nights are better than others."

There's a brief pause before he directs the conversation back to the safer topic of the Mortensen case and Jones lets him. Peter's not said anything overt, but he can tell from the dark smudges under his eyes and the obvious short temper that there's likely been more bad nights than good over the last few weeks.

"You think he could be remembering things?"

"If he is, he isn't sharing." Peter sighs.

And that's the crux of the problem. Three weeks. Three weeks since they rescued Neal from that loft and still, not one word. Now, Jones isn't surprised Neal hasn't come in and started talking about his forty-eight hours of captivity by the water cooler. It would worry him if he did. What does surprise him is he hasn't talked about it with Peter, because deny it all he likes, Jones has spent enough time with the both of them to know Peter Burke is Neal's world. If he's not sharing this with him, then he's not sharing it with anyone. A dangerous path to travel, and sure-fire way to disaster.

Jones has tried telling him this, but unfortunately where Neal's concerned, there's what he thinks and then there's what everyone else thinks. Generally, everyone else is wrong in Neal's world. Like a teenager who knows better than all the more experienced adults in his life combined, Caffrey will find a way to justify his reasoning for whatever he's set his mind to. He won't think about negative consequences or the affect his behaviour has on others, just the end result.

"Maybe the memories are jumbled up." He offers, trying to get the conversation back on track. "I doubt being drugged the entire time has helped."

"No probably not." Peter hums distractedly, but doesn't let him continue on the topic. "Hey, did we hear anything from the behavioural analysis team?"

"Nothing came in over the weekend." He sighs, knowing it's not what his boss wants to hear. "I would have called if it did."

"Yeah, I know you would." Peter sighs, a strange expression crossing his face. "Look I realise everyone thinks I'm coddling Neal, but frankly there's nothing about his deal that says I can't put him on permanent desk duty, and I don't need a reason."

"I get it." Jones nods, "Neal isn't an Agent. His safety is your responsibility. I'd probably make the same choices."

"You would?"

"Well, I doubt I'd be letting a felon sleep in my house and spend time alone with my wife, but you know, you and Caffrey… it's different." He shrugs.

"Different?" Peter's eyes narrow.

Their relationship isn't standard is what he means, anyone who knows the two of them can see that. More than once at his regular Poker nights Neal has been a topic of discussion, and every time, no matter who asks, Peter's been consistent in his answer.

"So, what is it with this Caffrey kid, Burke?" An older agent from Violent Crimes asks in between drags on his cigarette. "You got a thing for him?" He says the words with a wink and smile, like it's a completely reasonable question to be asking.

"No Al, surprisingly Neal's not my type." Peter answers tiredly.

Jones watches on and doesn't comment, he's aware Al went to Quantico with Peter, they're around the same age, attended each other's Weddings. It's banter and the usual ragging Peter gets about his unorthodox deal with Neal.

"Ah, he's too young and pretty for you, I get it." Al gleams and throws down his cards. "Two pair."

Peter folds with a good-natured growl and collects up his drink. "You win again."

"Well, it'll help me pay for the divorce. Damn blood-sucking lawyer gonna bleed me dry if we don't close things soon."

"Tell me about it." Someone else pipes in, obviously a voice of experience.

"I hear you let Caffrey spend time with your wife," Al turns back to Peter. "Aren't you worried?"

Peter near chokes on his scotch. Placing the glass down, he wipes his chin and schools his expression, holding back his amusement before answering.

"Neal's a good kid at heart. He deserves the chance to prove it." He turns serious, his look turning inward. "Sure, he's a pain in the ass and can get into trouble sometimes, but believe it or not he's more afraid of what El will think of him over anything I could do. She's good for him. Plus, she has me," he grins, "what more could she ask for?"

The table had subsequentially burst into laughter following that declaration, including Peter. Jones likes seeing the relaxed and personable side of his boss. It reminds him that that job isn't everything and it's entirely possible to have it all. And assuming having it all doesn't include an adult child with impulse control issues and a veiled sense of morality, then he's in.

"Yeah, I mean come on, you know you're not exactly subtle?" Jones grins, lightening the mood. "And trust me, even if you did try and hide it, everyone knows when Caffrey's wound you up."

"They do?"

"You have the same face my mother wore whenever she caught me with a comic book in my bible during Sunday service." Before Peter can comment, Clinton continues, "just remember he is Caffery, keeping him confined usually invites more trouble than it prevents, from my experience anyway."

"I'll bare that in mind."

Jones throws him a knowing smile. Peter isn't naïve, he can guess that most of White Collar, hell the whole New York office, knows not to mess with Neal or suffer the consequences.

"You gonna get that?"

"Huh?"

Jones points to his desk, where Peter's phone is ringing and vibrating against the hard surface. Blinking he quickly gets himself in gear and snatches up the handset. Jones starts to leave but Peter's quick outstretched hand signals him to stop.

"We'll be right there." He breaths tiredly, hanging up.

"What's wrong?"

Peter pockets his cell with a dejected sigh. "Neal's running." The words fall softly from his lips. "He ran from the van. Diana's alone on surveillance so she can't chase after him, we need to bring up his anklet data."

To anyone else he appears more annoyed with the inconvenience than worried, but Jones knows better. "Did she say why?"

Peter's sitting at his desk, signing in to the anklet app. "No," he says, glancing at his watch. "Well, I got a couple of hours Caffrey free at least." He continues offhandedly. "There. He's two blocks away from her on the corner of Angel and Wallace."

Jones is already dialling. "Diana, -" he steps out.

He's left Peter staring forlornly at the screen. Something about his dejected body language bothers him. Jones is used to their boss being worried about Neal, and okay, the first few days back were bound to be rocky, but with the depression and anxiety continuing way past the conventional period Jones has grown more than a little worried about their leader and Neal's rock.

"I've told Diana not to worry, we've got his location. You want me to go fetch him?" Jones re-enters, looking at Peter like he's the one that needs help.

"No, no, he's my responsibility." Peter absently shakes his head. "I'll handle him this time." Peter snatches up his car keys and walks out.

Feet moving briskly, Neal doesn't stop to think what he's doing, merely keeps doing it. Breathing quick and jagged, every rise and fall of his chest hurts like hell. The pain searing, how he imagines a broadsword would feel cutting through his flesh. Incidentally a fate he very nearly faced once while escaping a private residence in Colombia. Yet, despite his body telling him to stop, Neal keeps going for at least another block. He does eventually drop, not in the street like is very tempting, but into the doorway of some long-abandoned building, partially hidden from the view of the few occupants roaming the sidewalk of the equally fated neighbour block.

Like them he feels abandoned. Alone. And completely without help.

Just like he felt three weeks ago…

Neal wakes up face down, cheek pressed into the coarse fibres of uncovered floorboards. There's a worrying stain not inches from his face and he tries not to think what bodily fluid and how much of it, it would take to make that kind of dark tinge. Shoes surround him, he's not sure if it's multiple people or if his vision is playing tricks on him. Feeling listless Neal attempts to flee once more, but his mind and body are very much separate. The message to move doesn't make it to his feet.

'Peter?' He calls, but only his voice only echoes inside his mind. 'Where the hell are you, because now would be a very good time to bring in the cavalry!'

The air is musty, colder somehow than he remembers from the last time he was awake. With limited vision he can't see much, but he can tell the sofas are gone. 'Peter?"

"Shut up will you." A man with wire rimmed glasses and smelling of pot empties a bag of what Neal sees is newly purchased clothes, evidenced by the tags still being attached, right next to him. "I've heard enough of your mouth for one day."

"He keeps asking for someone, called Peter." A woman's voice answers. "Think that's his Dad?"

She's sounds young. A lot younger than him. She's sitting next to him as he's laying out languid on the dusty floor, running her hot pink polished finger nails through his hair.

"Hey no playing with the merchandise." The glasses wearing smoker admonishes, lighting a joint and batting her hand away before rolling Neal over. "We need to get him ready to leave."

"But he's so cute, look at him." She coos, bending down and almost touching his nose with hers, giving Neal an up-close look at her smooth, tanned, lightly freckled skin. Definitely in her teens. "Do you think Gallagher's still going to want him?"

"Are you fucking high?" He tugs Neal's arm out of his suit jacket, giving not one thought to how joints are supposed to work, displacing the woman at the same time. "Stop talking and help."

"You think he's cute." She laughs and leans back, slipping the lit joint from between his lips and taking a long drag.

"Pretty boys aren't my thing." The man continues to undress him, removing his clothes, slowly but without care.

Neal wills his body to move but nothing happens, then two cold hands slip fingers inside the waistband of his pants and a mew of protest makes it past numb lips. He tries to speak, form words and use his best asset to get him out of this mess but it's no use. Now in only his underwear the hands forcefully roll him over again so he's facing the ceiling and his tongue falls to the back of his throat. He doesn't choke, no strength even for that instinctual lifesaving effort. Instead he lies there, almost naked staring up at cobwebs clinging to rotten wooden supports.

"You get him dressed, then stay here until we get the signal to move." He looks at her over Neal's still and useless body. "What the hell are you doing?"

"It's a nice suit – an expensive suit – I'm not throwing it on the floor." She says with a maturity Neal wouldn't have thought she possessed, and out the corner of his eye sees she's folding it neatly.

"Fucksakes." He looks antsy back at someone out of view, "the sooner we get him outta here the better, that thing on his anklet is going to be the end of all of us."

Making his way to where the little dot on his car computer tells him he'll find Neal Peter isn't disappointed. He pulls up outside what was once the Angelica theatre, in front of the hunched figure taking refuge in its dilapidated doorway.

"Get in the car." He orders tersely, shouting through the open passenger window, not even bothering to shut off the engine.

Neal stays sitting in the same position he found him, head in his hands staring at the dusty cracked tiled steps, so he turns up the volume and irritation level, "Neal!"

"Peter?" Neal's head snaps up.

The noticeable confusion in the too pale face and glassy blue eyes should dampen his ire, but somehow the idea Neal had run from the van and even now seems surprised that he'd been tracked down so quickly pushes Peter over the edge.

"Get in the car, NOW!"

Neal scrambles, hearing the heat in his words and seeing the anger in his eyes no doubt.

Running around to the passenger side he wastes no time jumping in and opening his mouth. "Peter I'm-"

"Save it." He snaps, holding a finger up in front of his face. "Not one word, Neal. Not one."

There is very little that truly scares Neal, but Peter learnt early on that despite all his bravado and cocksure attitude, he really didn't like people being upset with him. Being told off was a big deal in Neal's world. Usually Peter felt guilty after shouting at him, but this time, eyeing the slouching figure sitting buckled in next to him, he feels liberated. Neal has been pissing him of since he woke up this morning. Hell, he's been trying to push him over the edge for the past three weeks!

This morning was a tipping though, because before surviving the commute from hell and the 9am case briefing that consisted of Neal twirling in his chair and sulkily commentating on his day's allocation, Peter had been treated to a frosty breakfast full of dirty looks and feet dragging, where Neal had pointed declared he felt no need to rush since he his desk wasn't going anywhere! This preceding a concerning communication from a buddy of his in Seattle, which distracted him long enough for Neal to be able to slip out unnoticed. Honestly the few hours he's spent Neal free today has been just enough to recharge his patience, otherwise he can't say what he might have done to him, what he might still do if he continues the way he is.

Still fuming over this latest stunt as he drives out of the city, Peter feels that too familiar niggle of frustration rear its ugly head, the one that seems to be his constant companion of late. He knew something like this would happen, he knew it. Behind that too easy smile, behind the façade danger always awaits. A new set of pencils wasn't going to change it.

"Are we going back to the office?" Neal's voice, shy and unassuming breaks the silent tension swallowing the car.

"No." Peter lets the word resonate, then dripping with cynicism and malicious intent he continues to inform him of exactly what he should expect once they reach home.

El is in the kitchen putting the seasoning on her oven roasted potatoes when she hears the front door open and the argument that had no doubt started at some point prior to arriving is brought into her home. She decides to wait it out, knowing Peter - and Neal - they need to get things out of their system before they can cut their losses and move on. The last few weeks haven't been easy, what with Neal being tetchy in the mornings and worryingly quiet in the evenings. Peter unwilling to listen to anyone about the current round the clock protection he's taken upon himself. Neal's odd behaviour and Peter's fears for Neal's safety, both rational and not, has left the atmosphere at home somewhat tense. But as the voices get louder and she notes one voice in particular seems to be dominating, that's when El starts to worry.

"Of all the stupid, boneheaded-"

"I said I'm sorry. I really don't know what else you want me to say!"

Hearing the rare apology, essentially an admittance of guilt, something Peter has told her Neal never does, El's worry very quickly morphs into abject concern and removing her oven gloves she makes her way out into the dining room.

"You're sorry?" Peter mimics, throwing his jacket over the banister and pacing the length of their living room. "You know what? I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't just throw you back in jail when I had the chance!"

"Peter!" El shouts in shock.

Both men turn and look at her, equally surprised by her sudden presence as she is by what's she's just heard. Breathing heavily, Peter's face is red, the anger still very much alive in his dark eyes. Neal in contrast looks seconds away from losing it, face pale, blue eyes glassy and hands visibly shaking. Whatever this is about, it's serious and has knocked them both off kilter.

"Neal." She orders, nodding towards the stairs without taking her own steely blue eyes off her husband.

For once Neal does as he's told and immediately runs upstairs without even a glance back in their direction. Both Peter and El watch him go, and wait until they hear the slam of the bedroom door before breathing another word.

"What happened?" El gets her demand in first, though slightly out of breath and with a tremble to her voice.

It takes Peter a further minute to form words, mouth opening and closing expelling nothing but air. When he does eventually speak, he's nowhere near as calm as she had been hoping.

"Neal happened." He growls lowly, stomping past her, heading for the kitchen.

"I gathered." She laughs hollowly, lifting a smile to her lips and leaving it on a little longer than feels natural. "But exactly what did Neal do this time?"

A slight upturn of his lips is all her husband affords her just before he bends down to retrieve the bottle of scotch out of the cupboard. "He could have been killed today El." He says unscrewing the cap and pouring a large shot, the words tumbling out. "This morning he slipped out of the office without anyone seeing, ended up nearly getting hit by a car." He releases the confession in one shaky breath, as if he's been holding it in so long, it's taken on a life of its own.

"What? How?" She's stopped short from running off to check on him by Peter grabbing her arm and pulling her back.

"Oh no, no, no" he waves, tone bordering on hysterical. "No sympathy for him, because that's not the worst of it."

Confident since Neal walked in under his own steam that he isn't in need of any urgent care and attention she refocuses attention on her irate husband. "Am I going to need a drink?"

"That might be a good idea." He agrees.

El immediately helps herself to a fresh bottle of Pinot. Watching him take his first sip she waits patiently for the full story. And boy does she get it.

"So, let me get this straight." El reviews what she's just been told. "Neal escapes the office for coffee, hits his head while jumping out the way of a speeding car and then runs away from the van less than an hour after you leave him there because he was bored? Hon, I know you're naturally suspicious and think everything is a con, but clearly Neal's not telling you everything."

"Not listening, not doing as he's told, you name it Neal's not doing it." Peter agrees glibly, wrongly assuming she is equally as outraged by Neal's behaviour as he is.

"Oh honey." She laughs and takes his hand in hers, "you think, maybe Neal feels a little suffocated. It has been three weeks," he groans but she ignores it. "You were worried he was too quiet. Sounds to me like the old Neal Caffrey is starting to come back and feeling more than a little claustrophobic."

Peter takes pause, sips his scotch and puts on his thinking face.

"So, how exactly is he walking after being practically run over anyway?" She ploughs ahead.

"He's fine." Peter breaths, forcefully and with purpose. "A car being chased by the police ran a red light and ploughed into oncoming traffic."

"So, he's okay?" She asks in order to be absolutely certain.

"He probably has one hell of a headache." Peter hedges, trying to be light-hearted about the whole affair. "But yeah, physically he's okay."

"Does this have anything to do with-?"

"No," he sounds almost disappointed as he takes her in his arms, bolstering his own nerves with a hug. "It looks like it was just wrong place wrong time." A laugh missing any humour falls from his lips. "Just happened to be the one-time Neal successfully runs without any of us knowing… otherwise he might well have gotten away with it."

"I'm sure he didn't do it on purpose." She tries to reason.

"It's Neal." Peters spits. "Everything he does is on purpose. I told him to stay in the office. He left. I told him to stay in the van-"

"Well technically-"

"No, don't defend him. He's quite possibly ruined days of surveillance with his stunt this afternoon and there is no excuse for it. How hard is it for him to understand that I'm just trying to protect him?" He slips into silence. El parts her lips ready to suggest they go sit down, but Peter launches into his spiel again. "You know he promised me if I let him back to work he'd follow my direction to the letter. I'm so furious with him, El."

"I see that." She says meaning no sense of irony. "But what I don't see is how shouting at him or threatening him with prison will change anything."

"He needs boundaries, he can't keep circumventing me whenever he thinks he knows better." Peter takes a breath. "He needs to learn to do as he's goddamn told."

"Hun, you're scaring me." El approaches him again, covering his hand with hers. "And I bet I'm not the only one." Her gaze instinctually travels upwards.

"Well he should be scared!" Peter raises his voice, catching on. "One phone call and I can have him back behind bars in time for dinner!" He yells at the ceiling.

"Peter!" El yells at him, a warning to cut it out.

"At least in prison I'll know where he is." He jokes more quietly, but she is less than amused and lets him know by giving him a hard look. "Fine I'll stop threatening him with prison. Happy?"

"You two are too much alike." She eyes him seriously, making it clear the childishness will not be tolerated.

Peter manages to look only slightly contrite as he continues to vent, refilling his drink and eventually moving into the living room to watch the game. El wants to argue with him, talk him through whatever crisis of confidence this is, but she knows her husband. He needs to come down in his own time. He'll realise the insanity of what he's saying and hopefully feel bad enough to actually address it directly with Neal later, not just brush it under the rug like it never happened. Right now, El turns to the one thing she knows will take her mind off things… a strawberry cheesecake is suddenly on the Burke menu for dessert tonight.