Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to USA Network and Jeff Eastin. : Criminal Minds is the property of CBS, the actors, producers, and writers of the show.

Claimer: Damon is mine

AN: A special thanks to peppe1951 for beteing all my DAMON II chapters, and her encouragement and input to help keep my story going.

DAMON II (7)

*** Unbeknownst to Damon, Mozzie had seen the whole thing, well almost the whole thing. ***

He saw Damon lift the wallet, go into the alley and hide behind the dumpster, and then he saw Damon return the wallet. He did not know if Damon had kept any of the contents or not.

Mozzie knew who Damon was; he had seen him several times running the streets. Mozzie knew about Damon, so identifying him wasn't hard. He looked just like a young Neal. But Damon had never met Mozzie. Damon was kept away from Neal's world to protect him just in case whoever was after him shadowed Neal for information. Damon knew about Mozzie, but all he knew was he was a short bald man, so he never noticed him.

Mozzie was torn about what to do. He could tell Damon was one of them, a con, and he did not believe in telling on his own kind. But he also knew Neal wanted a different life for Damon. Why, he didn't know. But Neal was his friend and that's what Neal wanted. Neal wanted Damon to live with the Suit. Moz felt it would not be an easy life for a natural born con to live with a suit.

But Neal was his friend, and Neal had asked him to report to him if he saw anything amiss with Damon.

That evening when Neal arrived at his loft apartment he found Moz drinking his wine, again. "Why are you here Moz?"

"Because you have a better wine selection then I do." Moz hesitated a moment, then went on, "Neal, remember when you asked me to tell you if I saw anything questionable with Damon?"

Neal was instantly alarmed, "What happened, Moz?"

"Well, I regretfully report that I saw him lift a wallet. But, that's not the stupid part," he hesitated. "He returned it."

Neal poured himself a glass of wine and sat down by Moz. "Tell me everything."

***WC***

Now Neal was torn about what to do. A part of him was proud that Damon had make the lift so smoothly and gotten away so clean. He wondered how much pickpocketing Damon might be doing, if he had done more; he sure was secretive about it. Why did he return the wallet? Did he take money out first? If so, the mark would remember him and then….

What if the mark reported him and Peter found out? Peter would not take it well. Neal groaned; Damon had to stop. That is not the life he wanted for the boy. His plan had been working so well, and now this! What if Peter rejected Damon? No, Peter wouldn't totally reject him over one incident, would he? Wouldn't Peter try to work with Damon like he did with him? But what if Peter didn't want to keep him…

Neal made his mind up. Damon had to be stopped, and Peter was the only one who could do it. But last time he told on Damon it had put a temporary rift between them, he did not want to squeal on Damon again.

There was only one way to fix this….

***WC***

The first Sunday that the Burkes left Neal and Damon alone, Neal raised the subject.

"Damon, Moz saw you lift that wallet."

Damon looked up from the chess game they were playing, his eyes guarded. "What wallet?"

Neal winced; did that mean there was more than one? "Damon, he saw you. Don't try to deny it."

Damon studied Neal, what did he want, he returned the wallet, didn't his snitch see that? "What if I did?"

Neal saw Damon was not going to be cooperative, but he had to try, "He saw you lift the wallet, and then return it. Did you take anything from the wallet?"

"What, your snitch couldn't tell? It's none of your business what I do." Damon sure hoped Neal wasn't going to try and play 'daddy' with him, because that was not going to work.

"Damon, whether you like it or not, it is my business. We're blood, right? I care about what happens to you." Neal could see Damon was rapidly shutting down, closing him out.

For several minutes they sat staring at each other, each wondering what the other's next move was. Finally Neal broke the silence,

"Why Damon? Why? You don't need money; Peter and El give you everything you need. Why did you steal it?"

Damon was not about ready to tell Neal, or anyone else for that matter, why he needed money. They would ruin his plans; they would prevent him from leaving and send him to CPS. He decided silence was his best option.

Neal tried again, "Is this some kind of game you're playing? To see if you can do it? If so, Damon, it is a dangerous game. What if you got caught? What if you got arrested and they ran your fingerprints? Damon, I don't know if Peter has enough power to protect you if you get caught doing something foolish. Sure he might be able to get them to drop charges, but what if they run your prints through the system?"

Neal ran his hand through his hair. Damon had retreated, he eyes were cold.

"You have to tell Peter."

Damon could not believe what Neal had just said. "What?"

"You have to tell Peter. He needs to know. Maybe he can talk some sense into you, I'm not getting anywhere."

Damon eyes were starting to spark, "You want me to tell Agent Burke that I stole a wallet? You?"

Neal saw the anger, "Yes, Damon. You need to."

Damon jumped up, barely controlling his rage, "You of all people are telling me to admit I committed a crime! How many have you admitted to, Neal? You, with all your alleged this and alleged that. When are you going to tell Agent Burke what you have done? You, who never admit to anything, what me to admit to stealing one lousy wallet! And I even returned the damned thing!"

Neal was trying to stay calm, trying to be his cool suave self, he slowly rose; he didn't like Damon standing over him as angry as he was. "Damon, if you don't, I will have to." He didn't want to say that, didn't want to do it, but Damon had to be saved from himself.

Damon lost control; he was in a frenzy, "YOU FUCKING SNITCH!"

"language…."

Damon did a back armed swing on the chess set sending pieces flying everywhere, wishing it was Neal's face instead. He fought to control his language, not in the Burke's home, not in Mrs. Burke's home, he went on, "I am not going to rat myself out! You do what you have to do, but don't ever come here to see me again! You rat on me, we're through!" He ran upstairs to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Neal slumped back to the couch, head in his hands. That did not go well at all. Damon was right, who was he to tell anyone to turn themselves in.

Damon regretted going to his room as soon as he slammed the door. He should have gone to the basement; the punching bag was in the basement. But he was not going to walk by Neal to get there. He went to his closet; he had some old clothes hanging against the outside wall for times like this. He started beating the wall with the thin layer of clothes to offer some protection for his knuckles.

***WC***

Neal had picked up the chess pieces and gotten himself together by the time the Burkes got back home. He put on his best smile and greeted them.

Peter looked around, "Where's Damon?" Usually Damon was at the door to greet them with a grin.

Neal felt a need to hide the truth, "He wasn't feeling good. He went to his room." That was not technically a lie….

El was immediately concerned, "I need to go check on him." She headed for the stairs.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry, El, he wasn't that sick. He'll be alright." He wanted to discourage her to give Damon plenty of time to cool down.

But it didn't stop Elizabeth as he had hoped, so Neal quickly said his good-byes and got out while the getting was good.

***WC***

Damon had managed to cool down some; the pain in his fists always helped him regain control. He was still angry, but he had it under control. He was sitting under the table in the back of the bedroom, contemplating his predicament.

Neal was going to snitch on him, again. He had returned the wallet! Why was Neal ratting on him? He berated himself for the hundredth time for not keeping the money, if he was going to be in trouble anyway, at least he could have had something to show for it. No, Agent Burke would make him give him the money. Damn Neal! What if Agent Burke kicked him out or turned him in to the police? He knew he did not like thieves, and even though he had returned the wallet, Agent Burke would still see him as a thief. And Mrs. Burke…. He did not even want to think how she would look at him. Damn he should have kept the wallet! Damn Neal!

While his emotions where in torment, he heard the Burkes come home. Neal was going to squeal on him. He got up and got in bed, maybe if he pretended he was asleep. Maybe if he pretended he didn't feel good. Pretend hell! He was feeling sick to his stomach.

El gently knocked and entered Damon's room and found him in bed. She went over and lightly ran her fingers through his hair and felt his forehead for a temperature. Then she gently asked how he was feeling.

Damon knew by her actions Neal hadn't ratted yet, well, not to her anyway. He might be downstairs right now telling Agent Burke. So he told Mrs. Burke he was feeling just a little sick and thought a nap would help him. Not exactly a lie, his stomach was in knots.

She kissed his forehead and went back downstairs. He almost lost it then, knowing that would be the last time she would ever kiss him like that. After Neal ratted on him, she would never do it again. Damn Neal! He hated Neal. He fed the hate.

***WC***

They made him go the supper, he tried to get out of it, but El checked his temperature again and since he wasn't running one, they made him eat.

Some people, and even animals, after living with an impoverished diet for a period of time like Damon did during his six months on his own become food obsessed, even to the point of becoming obese. Damon was the opposite. He had been too hungry too many times and it was just a way of life, almost like he was immune to hunger pains. Food was just not that important to him. He enjoyed eating when he ate, but he didn't care if he ate. Or maybe it was the 'closet' the killed his hunger….

The Burkes had to constantly stay on him to make sure he ate enough, he was still too skinny. So since he wasn't running a fever or showing any signs of real sickness, they made him come to dinner. He knew as soon as he went downstairs that Neal hadn't said anything to them, yet. Maybe Neal was going to give him a chance to turn himself in first. Fat chance of that, he thought.

Peter and El both saw right away there was something wrong. El did think it was because he wasn't feeling good, but Peter was more adept at reading Damon. Damon refused to look at him, refused to make eye contact, but Peter could see the tension in him and correctly surmised Damon was angry. But Damon wasn't talking and Peter knew by experience when Damon was that mad, it was best to give him cool down time and then he would open up.

***WC***

The next morning at breakfast, Peter thought Damon was still angry, but Peter was in a hurry, there was a breakthrough in a current case and he had to leave.

Damon was still angry. He had fed the hate, and he felt like a volcano ready to erupt. He knew Neal was going to tell Agent Burke about him at work. He did not go to the library that morning; he wandered the streets lost in troubled thoughts. Neal thinks I'm just playing a friggin game. He thinks I'm not good enough and that I'll be caught. He, of all people thinks I should confess my crimes to Agent Burke….

He had wandered into Central Park; it was fairly crowded, he accidently bumped into a few people while his mind was in turmoil….

I'll show Neal!

When Damon got through the park and back onto the streets he found an alley to duck into and hid behind a dumpster. He pulled the money out of four wallets, $427, being careful not to look at the owner's ID's. If he saw their names, he would remember them. After that was accomplished he checked the dumpster for a bag of trash, found one, buried the wallets in the bag, and then buried the bag in the dumpster. No one else would profit from his labors.

That'll show Neal I'm not a friggin amateur!

He returned home, hid his money in his bedroom, then, still seething he went to the basement to work out on the kick/punching bag, using all four limbs to vent his anger, imagining the bag was Neal. Eventually he burned the anger out, but when El came home, the guilt set in. He sat on the basement couch, head in hands; his brain in turmoil again….

Why did I steal those wallets! I wasn't going to do that anymore while living in the Burke's home! It's Neal's fault! Damn Neal! But I need the money. Now I have barely enough. The Burkes are going to hate me. Why did I do that? Damn Neal! And on, and on….