Those Haunts That Linger: Chapter 10

I'm back! And I promised to post today, so I will despite the late hour. I have missed you, and I promise I have been writing when I can. Went to NYC for the first time ever yesterday and it was awesome! Even tho I didn't get home till 12:30 Saturday morning. My day has been crazy, but here I am. :)

WARNINGS: Please see chapters one and two for the warnings.

PS! I don't own anything other than the plot! This is meant for reading not suing!

Cracks

Peter woke in his bed at seven in the morning. He smiled as the sun shone through the curtains and landed on his wife's still sleeping form. Something was tickling the back of his mind, however, and he looked at the clock again. Seven in the morning. What was it? He had let Satchmo out before bed. He knew Neal's foot was fine. He had gotten a...full nights sleep. He had slept all night.

The agent popped up in bed, almost fast enough to make the room spin. He felt a strong desire to check on his son. He hadn't been woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of Neal being sick in the hall bathroom. That was a good thing, but maybe he just didn't hear it. Neal wouldn't have woken them up if he got sick again anyway. It would make him feel like a burden.

Before he knew it, his feet had brought him all the way to Neal's door. It was open a crack, but not enough for him to get a clear view. He pushed the door open enough for him to poke his head in, wincing as it creaked a bit. Peter smiled at Neal, who was completely out of it and snuggling under a crumpled pile of blankets. He heard El sneaking up behind him and opened the door further, so she could see what he was smiling at.

El wrapped her arms around Peter from behind and peeked around his shoulder. A happy sigh came out of her mouth, and she reached up and kissed her husband on the cheek.

"C'mon. I was going to make breakfast. Let him sleep." They both pulled away and shut the door, so as not to bother the young man's sleep. As soon as the door shut, however, a pair of blue eyes popped wide open.

Neal sat up in bed and struggled to get the blankets to release him. Once his hands were free, he started searching for his sketchbook. He had had another nightmare last night, but luckily it wasn't enough to send him running to the bathroom. He had gotten his sketchbook out and started to capture certain images in graphite, when his eyelids started to droop. Finally feeling like he was safe, had led Neal's body to try and catch up on all of the sleep he had missed. So, Neal really was exhausted, and before he knew it he was out like a light.

However, Peter hadn't been as quiet as he had thought, and Neal was a pretty light sleeper. As soon as he heard the creek of his door, his mind was awake and analyzing every sound he heard. He felt bad for pretending to be asleep, but it wasn't like he was doing anything bad. Right? It wasn't like he was really 'lying' or anything. All of this family stuff was confusing to him, and he was glad to have his thoughts take another route when he found his pad on the floor.

He knew he had some time before they came to get him for breakfast, so he decided to just check his sketch over and make sure all of his pencils were accounted for. Check and check. His drawing was dark, yet it didn't hold that one debilitating factor that always sent him running. He was just pleased to find that his nightmares had not held any blood or dead faces. That was always a plus in Neal's book.

One look at the clock told him that he had let his mind wandered again, and sure enough he heard the telltale signs of Peter lumbering up the stairs to retrieve him for breakfast. Neal felt a fear grip him, and he had a sudden urge to pretend he had just awoken. It seemed ridiculous and childish, yet he found himself curled under the covers by the time Peter made it to his door. A soft knock was given to alert him of Peter's entrance.

"Hey, Buddy. El's made pancakes. We've still got a couple hours before the doctor gets here." Neal slowly blinked his eyes open and stretched to give off the impression of just waking. "Peter?" The man in the doorway smiled and nodded, buying his little charade.

"Yeah, Bud. Now come on. You don't want to still be in bed when Dr. Jenkins comes by." That's for sure. Though Neal has come to the conclusion that he was willing to give this therapy thing a bit more credence, that didn't mean he had to turn around and become buddy buddy with the doctor. That lady just got under his skin, like she could see every little thing he kept locked away in his head, and she was dying to drag it all out of the cobwebs and into the light.

He did manage to drag himself downstairs in time to help set out plates, wincing only slightly as he put pressure on his cut foot. To be honest he was lucky the bandage was still on and that he hadn't bloodied up the sheets.

Breakfast itself was calm. Only pleasant chatter over normal things like the weather passed from their mouths. As they were clearing everything away, El smiled at Neal. She had waited until they were finished eating to bring anything possibly touchy up.

"You look like you got a good night's sleep, Neal. Any nightmares?" Neal had to bite his tongue to keep him from immediately answering no. He was taking a foreign path now. Honesty.

"Uh...yeah. But definitely not...as bad as the other night." Peter came up behind him with his plate and patted Neal on the back.

"That's good, Neal. I was a little afraid you wouldn't come to us if it was as bad as the other night, but I'm glad to hear it wasn't. Did you do another drawing?" Neal nodded. Talking so openly about them with Peter and El was actually a bit of a relief, like he didn't have such a dark storm cloud floating above his head. He saw El bite her lip and knew what she was going to ask before she did.

"Can...can we see it?" Neal nodded hesitantly, knowing that this one would be coming from his recent sketchbook, not the older and obviously more subdued one. By the time he returned with it, everything was put away and Peter and El were waiting for him on the couch. He took a seat across from them, so he could control what they saw a bit more than if they were looking over his shoulders. He ran his fingers along the edges of the pages before finally opening the sketchbook.

Then the doorbell rang.

Neal would never admit it, but he had jumped at the sudden sound and sucked in a deep breath after finding out he had been holding it. Then, puzzled, they all looked over at the mantle clock. It read only nine forty-five.

Looking curiously at the door, Peter stood to answer it. While he was up and moving away, Neal closed his sketchbook and slid it under his chair, rather hoping they would forget about it. However, he knew that wish was to be disregarded as soon as he heard the familiar voice at the door.

"Good morning. Hope I'm not interrupting anything." Peter was surprised to see Dr. Jenkins standing in their doorway, a woman with a strict sense of punctuality, an hour and a half before their scheduled session.

"Uh, well..." The doctor did not wait for an invitation in, and just walked past Peter and got settled in her designated chair. She even pet Satchmo's head as he ambled over to her to say hello. Great, even Satchmo likes her. Peter made his way back over to his wife, shaking his head a bit but taking it all in stride. Neal had a vicious urge to glare at the doctor for what felt like trespassing into 'their' home. (Peter and El refused to let him think of it as anything else.) El, however, could not find it in her to be surprised at her friend's unexpected arrival. She had been warned ahead of time to expect her to pop in unexpectedly.

"Well, Sally, I think you're a bit early." Dr. Jenkins smiled and nodded at the three across from her (duly noting that Neal was not sitting near Peter and El for the first time since they began these meetings).

"Yes. I sometimes pop in unannounced to make sure my patients aren't overly preparing themselves for when we speak. I find it provokes more open and honest discussions. In fact, I do believe I interrupted something. Neal?" Neal did not bother to hide his irritation (or his small glare) at her bringing attention back to what he had been about to show Peter and El. Peter, seeing as soon as Neal opened his mouth that he was about to lie, jumped in to answer.

"Well, Neal was going to show us his sketch from last night." Dr. Jenkins gave Peter a tight smile, conveying her hopes that Neal would have answered, but her eyebrow arched in curiosity.

"Really? From you most recent sketchbook? Would you mind if I saw as well?" Now Neal was mad at both the doctor for barging in and Peter for just letting her. So, he crossed his arms and leaned back, clearly defensive.

"I would, actually." El raised a brow at the sudden change in behavior, as did Peter.

"Neal. Tone." Neal felt like a scolded teenager. Which makes sense, since you're acting like one. Stop being such a brat. When he looked to Dr. Jenkins he expected to find a bit of concealed irritation. Instead, he was surprised to see curiosity and encouragement there. But just like that it was gone, and Dr. Jenkins looked towards Peter.

"It's alright, Peter. Neal's allowed to not want me to see something. I must admit, that I do tend to pry quite a bit. Would you agree, Neal?" The young man was stunned. He was being asked whether he thought the therapist was annoying? Now he was deeply confused. Was this a test? Some sort of reverse psychology? That must be it. Neal refused to fall for it.

"No, of course not. It's your job." Neal didn't miss the way Sally's lips twitched up ever so slightly at his overly polite tone. It made him scowl on the inside.

"That wasn't a test, Neal. The point of all of this is for you to feel comfortable enough with me to share your true feelings with me. I know that you have never been able to trust easily, so I didn't come in here just expecting you to bare your soul to me. I want you to tell me when you think I am pushing too much or am stepping somewhere I don't belong or am just bugging the hell out of you. Okay? So, please. Tell me how you feel about all of this, right now."

Something in him snapped. His lack of sleep, the emotional turmoil of the past few weeks, fear compounded upon fear, and the freshness of the decision he had only just made pooled together into a bubble in his chest, that finally just popped. His hands clenched into fists in his lap, and his whole body was taut like a bow string. When his blue eyes flew up to meet Sally's, a wariness settled over the therapist. She braced for the onslaught.

"You really want to know what I think about all of this? Fine. I hate it. I hate the fact that Peter and El feel the need to bring in someone to help me. I hate the fact that some complete stranger wants me to talk about some of the worst things my mind has conjured up and feels like they can waltz into my life and fix it with a little pep talk. I hate that you are completely calm all the time and aren't feeling like one wrong move and everything will break! I hate that I need this!"

Neal felt all of the air being sucked out of him as soon as the last word passed through his lips. His nails were cutting into his palms, and he knew without looking in a mirror that his face had started to turn red from the overwhelming emotions still rolling through him. However, now that he was finished, all of that color drained from his face, and his fists unclenched to float in uncertainty above the arms of his chair.

"I-um..." Suddenly flooded with guilt embarrassment over his outburst, Neal felt his cheeks flame once more, before he tried to school his expression. His hands were now shaking, and their was a very obvious flinch when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. The silence in the room was not helping him with the tension that was building. Old memories started to flash in his mind's eye. He had been taught early on not to talk back, or even talk with a hint of 'attitude' in his voice. Pain followed each of the rare instances that he did not hold his tongue. That small part of him that was still 'Matty' was expecting a blow. To give himself a small feeling of protection, that he knew he didn't need (really, he knew that), Neal brought his feet up onto the chair and hugged his knees.

"I'm sorry."

He could feel them: the cracks showing through the surface. It was only a matter of time before the dam broke. Neal wasn't sure he could do this. Panic was already beginning to settle in.

You guys have officially caught up to me, so I will write like the wind when I can. Rehearsals for a musical I am in are taking over any life I might have, and Neal decided to take an extended vacation. -_- Any particular wishes for a direction of the story? Let me know, and I'll take a look. :)

I do enjoy taking prompts, and I don't bite, so don't be afraid to throw something out there for me to take a gander at. :)