Peter walked through the small kitchen sluggishly, watching the remainder of the sun set through one of the few un-murky corners of a nearby window. He had yet to cross into the next room and confront Neal. He didn't know why he was putting this off. It wasn't that he didn't want to do it anymore. No, it was quite the opposite, in fact.

It was no mystery that he and Neal weren't exactly the best of friends. After all, there were on two entirely opposite sides of the law. He was the determined FBI agent with a consistent desire for justice while Neal was the far too intelligent con man who kept him on his toes. He recalled how Bancroft defined their rather unconventional relationship earlier. The two of you have been at each other's throats for years. That did seem about right.

Who was he kidding? Neal didn't even like him. He was just another Fed who made his life hell. Why on Earth would he ever want to stay with him, even if it was for just a brief amount of time? Peter could only imagine how it'd feel having Neal reject his offer in favor of being thrown in a cell. That would be real fun.

But it was odd, though. Peter had always felt a sort of connection with this kid he'd chased for quite a few years. He always found himself spending extra time reviewing his file, or sitting by a pen-marked map, futility attempting to track down his current location. He didn't feel such dedication to any other criminal he so dutifully chased after. But it wasn't too difficult to figure out why. After all, the concept of an expert, fifteen year old forger would amaze a great deal of people.

With Neal, the chase was more akin to a challenging game. And frankly, it was an amusing enough game for Peter, considering his opponent was sharper than some might initially assume. In spite of everything, Neal was smart and everyone knows how much Peter likes smart.

Plus, he'd always been a kind enough person too, especially for being both a conman and a teenager. Considering the agent usually found himself dealing with arrogant, gun-yielding criminals on a daily basis, he could certainly appreciate the change.

'Regardless of the outcome,' Peter thought confidently, mind made up. 'It's still worth a shot.'

Peter crossed into the next room, seeing Neal clearly now. The boy was sat motionless with his back to that same brick wall, his cuffed hands, still thankfully, out of sight behind his back.

'He doesn't deserve this just because his dad is an alcoholic maniac.' Peter thought irately as he grew closer.

Neal didn't usually act like a young kid, but nevertheless, he was one.

Sensing Peter's presence, Neal opened his eyes, slowly lifting his head up to face him. "So, what's the verdict?" Neal asked quietly. "A spacious juvie cell with an ocean view?"

"Oh, you're very funny." Peter retorted, voice low, as he sat down next to him. "But I actually just got off the phone with them. Turns out they only have tropical beach available so I told them to forget it."

Neal turned his head briefly, lips curving up slightly.

"This is bad, isn't it?" Neal sighed after a moment, face neutral once again.

"Well," Peter replied, holding out the slightly crumbled contract that was now sealed in an evidence bag. "Could be worse."

Neal looked shocked at first as he quickly recognized the offending article. But moments later, his look changed to one more akin to embarrassment, even guilt.

"Oh. I-I didn't realize you found that." He averted his gaze, shamed by his own cowardice.

"Yeah. I am so sorry about this-" Peter began sincerely, futilely attempting to ease the now present tension.

"It's fine. "Neal said after a moment. "I mean, it's not your fault."

"Well, if it helps at all, this could possibly keep you out of jail." Peter said, voice reassuring. "The- intent of your past crimes may not hold as much weight once it's brought to court with this info."

Neal nodded contemplatively, registering the significance of the agent's words.

"Maybe." He pondered, not sounding entirely convinced. "Do you know if they've set a court date yet?"

"Yeah. Monday, 8am."

Neal groaned melodramatically at that, turning to glance at Peter who had also been starring ahead. "8am. Do they not know I'm fifteen?"

Peter couldn't help but chuckle at that before a disturbing notion interrupted him.

Yeah, if only other people had realized that. Peter thought mindlessly, slightly regretting not being the one to cuff that horrific excuse of a father.

He took this opportunity to roll his eyes at the teenager who didn't frequently act like one.

Well, maybe he would, if he had been given the chance to.

"Don't worry, you'll live." Peter smirked slightly, putting an end to his absorbing train of thought.

" So when-" Neal asked warily, the trepidation returning to his voice. "When am I being shipped off?"

Peter quickly realized that this was his cue. He would have to say something now.

"Well, I actually wanted to talk to you about that."

Peter was still looking ahead. Yet regardless, he could almost feel the curious look that Neal was directing towards him.

"I had this idea." Peter began tentatively, turning to meet Neal's expectant gaze. "If you don't want to go ahead with it, that is completely fine too. But, I figured, what the hell?"

He could tell Neal was all ears now. Staring back at him with questioning, yet hopeful interest.

"Well, given the complexity of the situation," Peter began cautiously. "I was thinking that until the court date, you could um- stay with me."

Peter did not miss the way Neal's eyebrows almost instantly shot up, his eyes widening considerably.

"Wait.. w-what?" Neal's voice was softer than Peter had expected it to be, his tone sounding more inquisitive than scandalized.

"Yeah, it-it'd work as a sort of FBI release initiative." The agent said promptly, hastily trying to recall how Diana had worded it earlier. "As long as they know that you're under my watch, this could work in place of juvie. I know it's beyond unusual. But it did seem better than the alternative."

"Um," Neal paused for a moment, his words quiet. "I don't really know what to say."

Peter blinked suddenly, resisting the urge to hang his head in his hands.

"Oh, ok. Well-"

"I mean.. that's unbelievable. Definitely didn't see that coming." Neal said, his voice sounding almost entranced. He hadn't even realized that Peter had spoken again. "Thank you."

Peter was caught off guard by the unexpected gratitude and he paused, just then registering the once foreign look of hopefulness in the kid's eyes.

"Not a problem." Peter said frankly, feeling strangely relieved. "I know you're a good kid. And you didn't deserve any of this." Peter moved his hand expansively, gesturing to the situation around him.

Neal only nodded after a moment and Peter felt oddly distressed by how un-genuine the movement seemed. He suddenly realized that perhaps Neal didn't feel the same way. After all, it had most likely been ingrained in him that he did in fact deserve it.

"Are you really sure about this?" Neal asked after a moment, catching Peter slightly off guard.

" 'Course I am. What? You don't think I can handle a little babysitting?"

"That's not what I meant." Neal replied, wisely choosing not to protest Peter's unflattering choice of words. "Just- what if you regret it?"

Peter looked at the boy, trying hard to ignore the distressing look on Neal's face.

"Not a chance." He responded without delay, attempting to abate the kid's, albeit understandable, concern. "I'm a man of my word, Caffrey.

Neal nodded before looking down, evidently trying to conceal the tiny smile that was now curving his lips.

"You know," Neal said, with feigned nonchalance, lifting his gaze upwards to met Peter's now inquiring stare. "You should really call me Neal. It's a privilege I extend to all FBI agents who've chased me for two years."

Peter laughed, slightly taken aback by the frankness of Neal's remark.

"Alright." Peter said, thoroughly amused. "And you should call me Peter, by the way. All the smart aleck, fifteen year-old con-children do."

Neal grinned slightly, despite himself. He was finding it almost impossible to be as sullen and brooding as before. At least for now, he had scarcely a reason to be.

"So, Neal," Peter said after a moment, the new moniker not sounding as out of place as he thought it might. "Want to get the heck out of here?"

Neal sighed theatrically, his now hopeful eyes and widening smile still rightly in place.

"Is that even a question, Peter?" Neal smirked, gradually getting to his feet. "I thought you'd never ask."

WCWCWCWC

"Alright Burke, now you be careful with that kid. He is a practiced criminal and far more intelligent than he's given credit for. Whatever you do, do not underestimate him."

Peter sighed, half-listening to Bancroft's long-winded speech. It seemed to be concerning the complex danger that was the notorious Neal Caffrey. But, to be honest, Peter couldn't be too sure. He had been zoning out for the majority of the unneeded speech. At this point, he was just eager to get home.

"-let him out of your sight for even a second. I don't need the Bureau higher-ups, or worse, NYC law enforcement coming after me because you screwed this up."

"Yes, yes. I get it."

"I don't think you do. You know, you're too trusting, Burke. And Neal Caffrey is never one to be trusted. If he escapes-"

"Escapes? What's he gonna do hotwire my car? He can't even drive."

Bancroft's stare was close to lethal now and Peter found himself rethinking whether it was the right time to make an innocent joke.

"Burke," Bancroft said, his voice elevated significantly."He is a practiced criminal. Is this some sort of game to you?"

Evidently, it had not been the right time.

"Not at all. I do understand the weight of the situation. I mean, I am a component agent, sir. I'm think I'm capable of looking after him for a while. It will be fine."

"OK, Burke." Bancroft said, running a hand down his weary face. "But I'm trusting you. Don't mess this up."

"Thank you, sir. I won't. You have my word."

"Yeah, alright. Now go get Caffrey and get out of here already. Remember, the kid never leaves your sight and he stays handcuffed at least until you get inside of your house. If anything goes wrong, you have my number."

"Got it."

"Alright, you'd better. Good luck, Burke."

Peter forced a smile at his superior's unneeded platitude before turning to walk away. The longer he stayed around, the more likely Bancroft would realize that he wasn't as confident as he appeared.

Neal was on his feet and keen to leave when Peter met him by the door.

"Hey, not so fast." Peter said, nearing the impatient-looking boy. "First, some ground rules. OK?" Peter didn't even pause for a response before proceeding.

"Rule one, you do not go anywhere without me. You must be in my sight at all times."

"Rule t- hey look alive, this is important."

Neal sighed impatiently, but fixed his eyes on Peter's, nonetheless.

"Rule two," He said, directing a serious look at the boy. "You do not run. Because I will catch you and, trust me, it will not end well for you. You got it?"

Neal nodded, but Peter wasn't sure he was entirely convinced. Neal did seem to be feeling better, yet he didn't exactly look like he could run a marathon. Let alone escape a slew of irate Feds. A part of Peter was confident that the kid was smarter than to use this particular situation to test his luck.

"Rule three," Peter continued, the severity of his tone easing significantly. "No fruity jazz music is to be played on my radio at any time, or I will be the sole chooser of stations."

Neal tried not smile then, shooting the agent a look of mock hurt in response. But Peter just made sure to roll his eyes at the kid before resuming.

"Rule four-" He said, looking thoughtful, brow furrowed. "Alright. Well, I don't have another one right now. But if Bancroft asks, there were at least ten."

Neal did smile then, and Peter found his own stern persona deteriorating with every passing moment. He was far too exhausted for stern.

"Oh right. You should get your stuff before we leave." Peter said, slightly troubled that he almost forgot that important step.

"Oh." Neal said after a moment and Peter wondered if he hadn't remembered either.

"Yeah, ok." Neal said slowly, before turning to begin the short walk to his room.

"Why's he acting so strange?" Peter wondered as he began to follow Neal. "Doesn't he want to go get his stuff? I'll never understand teens."

"Okay. It should only take a second." Neal said hurriedly, pulling Peter out of his train of thought.

Peter stopped in the doorway as Neal entered the room, the agent in him showing itself immediately. He quickly began to examine the bedroom, surveying every unsettling detail of the unconventional living space Neal wasn't too eager to show off.

It was no secret that the room was unusually small and cramped. It was even smaller than the painting room he had been in not a few hours earlier. There was a lone, twin mattress in the corner of the room with a cover on top of it. This was obviously Neal's bed. There didn't seem to be any windows that he could see and the one source of light was a too bright lamp on a wooden table beside his bed.

In the opposite corner of the room he spotted a small, wooden easel and some paints. They were not as high quality as the art equipment in the, now empty, 'forging studio.' But they were nice, nonetheless.

With not much else to examine, Peter looked over at Neal expectantly.

"So, can I take these off to pack?" Neal asked, referring to his cuffs. Peter noticed that his voice sounded more questioning, than openly distressed.

"Neal-" Peter began, wary of Bancroft who was still in the other room boxing up evidence.

"Okay, okay. It was worth a shot.." Neal conceded, evidently realizing it wasn't worth it. "You see that chest over there? You can just throw the stuff in there into a bag." He advised before using his shoe to drag a nearby trash bag across the floor.

Peter knelt down in front of the chest and began doing what he was told. He idly wondered if he should say something to Neal about this unjust, and frankly appalling, living situation. Oh, the fun Child Protective Services could have had with that despicable man.

But what could he really say to Neal? He didn't want to unintentionally offend him.

"OK. I think that's it." Peter said after a moment, once the small amount of clothing was in the bag. He looked over at Neal who had been standing behind him. Once again, seeming all too ready to leave. For the most part, he appeared to be virtually unshaken by the unexpected departure from his room and the place he'd considered his home for all these years.

Peter stood up then, glancing around the room to make sure Neal wasn't leaving anything of consequence behind.

"So, where'd you get that?" Peter asked nonchalantly as he neared the object that had abruptly captured Neal's attention. He severely doubted that it was just an average birthday gift from his loving dad. And the curiosity was getting to him.

"The easel?" Neal asked, seeming rather caught off guard by the question. "Um, it was a present. My mom got it for me for my eighth birthday." He said, gaze still fixed on it.

"Your mom?" Peter questioned, overtly perplexed. Peter only ever had access to information about Neal once he began popping up all over the FBI's radar. Slightly thrown, Peter realized that he knew next to nothing about Neal's earlier childhood; before he became engaged in illicit activities. There had never been any mention of his mother in his personal file. And for some reason, he had the pressing desire to know why.

"I don't think I know anything about her." Peter said cautiously, careful to not let his true curiosity show through. "But it looks like she knew her son pretty well." He said, gesturing to the present that was oh so Neal.

"Yeah" Neal said, his tone almost wistful. "She did."

"Did?" Peter's inner-agent immediately detected. "Oh no."

Neal sighed then, looking away from it, choosing instead to fix his gaze firmly on the floor. "You don't know anything about her," Neal said, his voice quiet. "Because she passed away that same year. Lung cancer."

Peter just stared at the kid, immediately regretting his decision to speak.

"Jesus, Neal. I'm sorry." He said, stunned. "Really."

"It's been a while." Neal replied after a moment, voice still wistful. "There's no use living in the past, I guess." Neal spoke hesitantly as he started to look up once again. "But thanks."

Peter nodded, turning to face the cherished childhood present once again.

"You want to take it with you?"

Neal looked up without delay, his brows significantly higher.

"What? I couldn't take it with me." Neal said hurriedly, visibly caught off guard. He was looking at Peter now, but his mind seemed elsewhere. "How could I-? I mean, what about after..? But, wait. Really?"

The hopeful tone in the kid's frenzied words was too much for Peter so he decided to merely disregard it, taking matters into his own hands. "Well, if you don't want it, I'm taking it." He said, with mock indifference to the commandeering of Neal's gift. "But we're not just leaving it here."

The easel was pretty small and Peter had no problem picking it up and storing it away in the same trash bag as Neal's clothes. He even threw the paint bottles in there too just for good measure.

"No way." Neal was shaking his head, lips curving slightly. "Peter, thank you. I mean, that really means a lot."

Peter looked at the boy with an exaggerative, quizzical look on his face. "Why are you thanking me?" He asked, willing himself not to smile too. "I said I was taking it for me."

A/N - Next chapter should be up very soon. They'll actually leave the house then, I promise. Also, sorry about the line break situation between sections I've tried everything but they just don't seem to be coming up. So annoying. :/ It worked in the first ch. and now it's not for some reason. I'll keep trying to fix it though. Anyway, thank you for reading :DD