Their weekly dinners had been going on for a few months. Neal had become a highly anticipated part of their week. Peter had to admit, the kid had grown on him. He knew there were things he didn't know about Neal. They rarely discussed any serious matters, but what he had heard had convinced him that any issues the boy had were not his own fault. In fact, he was a pretty good kid, despite his slightly criminal behavior.

He was smart. Smarter than most adults Peter knew. He had an incredibly charming confidence about him that, although it annoyed Peter to no end, was highly amusing. Elizabeth had become more attached to the boy with each dinner. Although she would never admit, Peter knew she slipped a twenty into Neal's pocket every Thursday night without him noticing. It comforted Peter to know that the boy would at least have something to help him get through the week.

Neal had never been as much as a second late to a dinner. He always arrived ten minutes early, in fact, carrying a desert of some sort and a charming smile. This Thursday night, however, there was no Neal, no desert, and no charming smile. Elizabeth was about ready to call in the cavalry at 7:01, but Peter calmed her down. He tried Neal's phone several times, but he couldn't shake the nervous feeling he got when it went straight to voicemail.

They had only known Neal for a few months, but Peter knew him well enough to know that this wasn't like him. He wouldn't make them worry like this. By the time eight o'clock rolled around, Peter was too anxious to sit around anymore. He told Elizabeth to stay home, in case Neal happened to show up late, and he headed out to the building he had dropped the kid off at so many times.

He got out of his car and, feeling thankful he had his gun and badge on him, went up to the front door. To his surprise, it was wide open. He checked the sign on the front wall, noted the Caffrey's apartment number, and climbed the crooked staircase.

The Caffrey's apartment wasn't locked either. Peter knocked a few times, but no one answered. He was imagining too many horrible scenes on the other side of the door to patiently wait, so he pushed the door open without thinking twice about it.

The apartment was worse than he had expected. It opened up into a small living room that was furnished with only a tattered couch and a dated television set. The kitchen had a small table in the middle of the floor with two mismatched chairs pulled up to it. The counters were cracked, as was the poorly tiled floor. The refrigerator was hanging open. From what Peter could tell, the only contents were a few beer bottles and some milk. There was a narrow hallway that led out of the living room. Cautiously, Peter took a step forward.

"Neal?" he called into the apartment. He could hear someone moving around in one of the rooms off of the hall. "Neal?" he repeated when he received no answer. He waited for a few moments and then was relieved to see the boy emerge from one of the doors.

His relief was short lived, however, as Peter soon noticed the distinct bruise covering Neal's right eye. "Peter?" Neal questioned, looking surprised and fearful. "What are you doing here?"

"It's Thursday," Peter said, trying to hide his anger and panic. "You were late, and Elizabeth and I…" he trailed off and shook his head. "What happened to you?"

Neal's hand flew to his eye, and he winced as his fingers touched the tender spot. "I forgot," he mumbled guiltily. "I'm sorry. I promise, I'll be there next week." He was just about ready to turn and retreat back down the hall, but Peter stopped him.

"Next week?" Peter questioned. "Nu-uh. Elizabeth made dinner. I'm starving. You're coming over tonight," he instructed. He just wanted to get Neal out of the apartment and into their living room. Elizabeth would know what to do.

Peter thought Neal was going to protest, but he just sighed and led the way out of the apartment.

They had been driving for nearly ten minutes before Peter brought it up.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" he asked, nodding to Neal's banged up face.

"I fell," Neal lied.

Peter sighed loudly and gripped the steering wheel a little bit tighter in his hands. "You know, Neal. For such a smart kid, you sure are a terrible liar," he observed as they came to a stop at a red light.

"Peter…"

"Forget it," Peter sighed. "Just know that Elizabeth will be fussing over you all night with your face looking like that."

Neal smiled for the first time all night, and both of them finally relaxed.

As Peter had predicted, Elizabeth didn't stop interrogating Neal about his eye at dinner. Neal continued on with his lie, claiming that he had fallen down the stairs that morning and must have hit his head harder than he thought because he honestly had forgotten about dinner.

If Elizabeth thought he was lying, she certainly didn't let it show. She went on to lecture the kid on how he needed to be more careful and how he really should see a doctor through half of their dinner. Finally, once Elizabeth had dropped the issue, they continued on to have a normal dinner. They avoided personal questions as they usually did and simply relished in each other's company.

When dinner was finally over, Elizabeth volunteered to drive Neal home. She was going to fetch her keys, and Neal was finishing up a game of tug-of-war with Satchmo, when Peter interrupted.

"Neal, can I talk to you for a second?" he asked. Neal looked up at him, letting Satchmo's toy drop to the floor. The lab pounced on it victoriously, but Neal didn't pay any attention to him as he straightened himself and turned to Peter.

"Sure," he shrugged and followed Peter to the front hall. He knew what was coming. He had to make sure he didn't break. If Peter knew what was going on in his apartment, what his father had done, there was no way he would let him go back. He would end up in foster care, and no one wanted to deal with an abused teenager. They had too many issues for anyone to try to take on. Even the Burkes. He really hated lying to them, but what else was he supposed to do? "What's up?"

"I want you to tell me what really happened to your eye," Peter said once he was sure Elizabeth was out of earshot.

"I told you, I fell," Neal said, his eyes glued to the floor as he spoke.

"Hey. Look at me." Neal raised his eyes to meet Peter's. "Now, tell me what happened to your eye."

"Peter, it's fine," Neal shrugged. "I've got it under control."

"It doesn't look like it to me," Peter said, eyeing the shiner on his face. "Neal, I can help you. You just have to let me."

"I don't want you to help me," Neal snapped. His face immediately turned apologetic. "Peter, it's just too dangerous," he said with a softer voice. "I promise, you don't have to worry about me."

"I know you think it's dangerous for you to tell me, but I can protect you if I know what's going on."

"Peter, if he finds out you're helping me…" Neal started, but he quickly stopped. He was letting himself break. They couldn't know about this.

"Who?" Peter asked, trying not to go into his full-fledged special agent mode. "Your dad?"

"Yes," Neal said finally, his eyes fluttering to the floor.

"He hit you tonight?" Peter questioned. Now, they were getting somewhere. Neal winced. He didn't want to have this conversation. Not now. Not when everything was going so well. If they found out how screwed up he was, they wouldn't want him coming over anymore.

"Come on, Neal. You can trust me." Both of them stared at each other for a moment.

They hadn't known each other for long at all. Neal was quickly on his way to becoming a criminal. Peter was an FBI agent. But somehow, they trusted each other. Peter had no problem allowing the kid into his house every week. Neal even occasionally slipped in a few stories at dinner that he knew Peter could easily arrest him for.

"He found your business card," Neal finally admitted, and immediately a wave of guilt rushed over Peter. This was his fault. "I told him what happened, and he said I wasn't allowed to see you guys anymore." It took every ounce of self-restraint Peter had not to leave right then and there and track down Neal's father. "Peter, I really have to get home," Neal said, his eyes desperately wandering around the front hall. "If he realizes I'm here…"

"You're not going home, Neal," Peter said, his voice shaking with anger. "You're staying here. At least for the night. We'll figure everything out in the morning."

"Peter, no. I can't impose like that," Neal protested. "You guys have already done more than enough. I can take care of myself."

Peter wasn't listening. "Go upstairs. You can have the guest bedroom," he instructed. "I'll go talk to Elizabeth. There's no way we're letting you go back there." Peter didn't give Neal the chance to argue. He brushed past him, still fuming with rage, and went to track down Elizabeth.

With a reluctant sigh, Neal headed upstairs.

Neal was woken up in the middle of the night by hushed voices. Elizabeth was sitting on the edge of his bed, running her fingers through his hair. He could hear Peter's voice coming from the doorway. He kept his eyes closed, listening to the Burke's conversation.

"Peter, if we call social services, they're going to want to put him into foster care," Elizabeth's voice said with a voice far from its usual steadiness. "He's a fifteen-year-old, abused teenager. People aren't exactly going to be lining up to take him in."

"I know," Peter sighed. "But we have to do something. There's no way we can let him go back there."

"I think you know that's not what I'm suggesting," Elizabeth said. Her hand trailed from Neal's hair to his back. She traced her fingers up and down his spine, trying to ignore the welts she could feel underneath his t-shirt.

"I know what you're suggesting, El," Peter said with a long sigh.

"And?" Elizabeth asked.

"And I'm thinking it's our only option," Peter said slowly. Elizabeth let out a sigh of relief. "If he goes for it, of course…" he trailed off. Elizabeth wasn't listening anymore. All of her attention was on the boy supposedly sleeping beside her. He had been through so much, things she and Peter didn't even know about, she was sure of that. But somehow he was still sitting at their dining room table every week with a grin on his face.

She wanted to fix everything for him. She needed to know that he would be okay. "El, we only know one side of him," Peter warned. "If we take him in, for real, we're going to see the other side of him. We both know the smiling and chitchat is all an act. Are you sure you're ready to deal with all of this? I think it may be worse than we thought."

"Yes," Elizabeth answered quickly. Knowing what had really happened to the teenager only made her want to help him more. "Peter, I love him. The thought of someone hurting him…" she trailed off, and Neal could hear her sniffling. Peter abandoned his post at the doorway and stood beside his wife. "I just wish we could protect him from all of this."

"Me too. We can talk to him about it in the morning," Peter said. Elizabeth dropped her hand from Neal's back. She leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

Neal felt a hand ruffling his hair. Peter. He burrowed deeper into the bed and waited for them to leave before he snapped his eyes open. Were they talking about what he thought they were talking about? They couldn't seriously mean they wanted to take him in. He didn't even want to think it. If he got his hopes up, and then it turned out he had misunderstood, he didn't know what he would do. Trying hard to focus on everything but Peter and Elizabeth, Neal drifted back to sleep.