Chapter 10

Chest heaving, breathing quick and heavy, there's a rushing sound filling his ears. Peter's hand on his neck, he concentrates on the soft touch over his cheek and tries hard to relax as he voices the words he knows are going to end it all.

"I killed her."

…

It's the middle of the night when Neal wakes up again. Peter's asleep on the sofa next to him, clearly not at all troubled by the cramped conditions. His need to be close could be seen as caring or it could simply be because his anklet isn't working. They haven't got him a new one from the marshals for obvious reasons, so maybe Peter's desire to suffocate him is just running prevention, who's to say? Either way Neal manages to extract himself from Peter's hold without waking him, which means as a human failsafe he sucks at it. Although complete exhaustion is probably a mitigating factor.

After his confession - after he talked both friends off the ledge - Peter had insisted they all get some sleep. Neal wasn't interested in sleep, very much wanted not to sleep. Sleep was the gateway to all things terrifying right now, where Neal too often found himself in strange places at strange times and at the mercy of whatever foe decided to invade his thoughts. But even after he explained his very sound reasoning, Peter still refused to entertain the idea of him staying awake all night.

He couldn't make him sleep. Neal had told him so, arms folded across his chest determined to make his stand. Peter had stared at him, was silent for a seemingly unending amount of time, then just as his resolve was breaking laughed in his face. Actual full on hysterics and everything. He called him adorable, then left to fetch more blankets. Neal was unimpressed to say the least.

Okay, so technically he didn't kill the gallery assistant, technically he was a witness. Peter insisted on the distinction when Neal filled them in on what he recalled about the break-in, the one he remembers committing – he thinks – but still doesn't know why, or what he took. But he still couldn't let go of the idea if he hadn't been robbing the place then she wouldn't have been collateral damage. That night he'd gone to sleep in his apartment and woken up bruised, battered and freezing to death on the Brooklyn Bridge. Knowing that could happen again he asked both his friends how they could even suggest sleep being good for him at this point.

Mozzie accepted his theory, while at the same time calling him highly martyred and proceeded to pass out, short legs dangling over the arm of the chair, empty wine bottle at his side. Peter nodded like he understood, but then pushed him towards the sofa. Neal put up a cursory protest for forms sake, dragging his feet, making Peter work for his compliance as usual. Despite the completely surreal situation it was comforting to know somethings didn't change.

Fully expecting to be dumped on the cushions and left alone it took all his energy to keep the surprise off his face when Peter collapsed down next to him, pulling him sideways over his lap and tugging a blanket up to cover them both. He didn't know what to say, but he was grinning and that must have given him away, because before he could utter one sarcastic word Peter gruffly told him to shut up. The arms wrapped around him tightened, ensuring very little wiggle room. He expected to feel claustrophobic, but surprisingly the warmth of the body beneath him, the steady rise and fall of Peter's chest lulled him into closing his eyes. He felt himself drift and eventually decided what the hell, he couldn't stay awake indefinitely, and if any crazy person wanted to try and take him from Agent Peter Burke, well he'd pay to see that fight. Peter was oddly possessive with the people in his life.

Now, wide awake and looking around the dark, yet cosy living room Neal tip toes past Mozzie who is still where they'd left him and it occurs to him that a weird unbalance is happening. Neal's determined they need to end this. They need to go back to their old roles, to how things used to be. A world where Mozzie came and went and never stayed, and where Peter gave him the occasional clap on the shoulder and Neal didn't feel like crying every ten seconds. It's time to get his life back.

Creeping upstairs he decides the best place to start is Peter's Caffrey box. There's probably parts of his life in that box that even he doesn't know about. It reminds him of the shoe box his mother kept under her bed. He'd gone snooping one day while she was at work and found photos of himself, his Mom, some of a man Neal presumes was his Dad but can't be sure because he never worked up the nerve to ask. She was too fragile on her bad days, and good days were so infrequent nothing mattered more than trying to preserve every second. The faces from those photos have faded from his memories over the years, a blur conceals any recognisable features when he thinks back to his life as Danny Brookes.

Neal shakes, un-gelled fringe flying left to right, throwing off any hint of Danny, Danny's Mom or photos of a life long forgotten. Mind back on Peter's version of that box and what it symbolises - a comparison to his mother something he doesn't have the mind space for right now. One complexity at a time – Neal enters Peter and Elizabeth's bedroom, easily finds the box and begins his search for answers.

"Wha'cha doing?"

"Jesus," Neal grabs his chest, "Peter you scared me."

He's sat in the middle of Peter's bedroom floor, leaning against the bed. The Caffrey box spread out around him, mixed with it his prison files that had been carelessly left out. The sun hadn't yet risen, although there was a hint of light on the horizon, filtering in through the windows behind him. Neal hadn't noticed the time passing or heard Peter walk in and had jumped out of his skin when the deep voice disturbed his concentration.

"Good to know I haven't lost my touch." Peter bends down and fusses with his hair, feeling his forehead and noting the intense heat Neal knows he's radiating.

He sits through Peter's ministrations without complaint, resigned to being cast in the submissive role for the foreseeable future. He lets Peter push back his fringe, rest his palm against his forehead, even poke his healing cheek.

"You done?" Neal blinks up at him.

"I'm done," Peter nods, unrepentant and sits down beside him, "for now." He snatches the paper clipping out of Neal's hands. "What's holding your attention so badly?"

Neal doesn't resist, let's the old and worn newspaper cut out glide through his fingers. Peter's quiet as he reads and Neal's happy to sit still and wait. He keeps his gaze forward, listening to the sounds of the city coming to life outside, creating a soft base that lulls him into passivity, a sense of calmness infiltrating his inner being and making everything feel like it might be okay.

"You know when I think about your trial now…"

Neal rolls his head against the side of the mattress, stares up at Peter and waits for him to continue.

"Do you hate me?"

It's a strange question, one Neal wonders about himself from time to time. "I wanted to," his says thoughtfully. "Really, I wanted to despise you. You used Kate to get to me. Used her to take four years of my life." He pauses, takes a shuddering breath. "But I knew, you know? I knew I'd be arrested, I was just glad you let me speak to her first. If you'd have taken me going in…"

"I could have," Peter answers like he's not thought of it that way before, "Probably should have now I think about it."

"That would have been cruel." Neal tells him. "I mean you can be really mean sometimes, but using her as bate and then not even… No, you wouldn't do that. I knew you were a good guy."

"If I hadn't been such a good guy we may not be here now. You'd have served your time and be a free man."

Peter poses something he's not thought about. Had he not seen Kate that day it's unlikely she'd ever have come to see him in prison. No visits meant no in for Alder, meant Kate would be alive, he'd be free and Peter wouldn't be babysitting an ex-con who's turned his life upside down for the last twelve months.

"No, you're right. You should have."

Neal speaks with such passivity Peter has to look at him to make sure it really is Neal he's sitting next to. Then something clicks in Peter's mind.

"Did you have any other visitors in prison?"

"Why?"

"The other night, you slept walked your way into my bedroom. Went through my Caffrey box."

"Yeah you said Terrell wrote to me."

"What if it wasn't just Terrell?"

"You think they both did? Why?"

Peter doesn't answer, "she used a pseudonym. Maybe Rowland did too," he leans forward and pulls the prison box closer. "What was the date on the Terrell letter?"

They find the letter believed to be from Terrel, and a bunch of others which hadn't been opened. It didn't seem to be much, but Neal recognised the code used in them straight away. They were just like Kate's.

"I never saw these." Neal's disappointment is obvious.

"They were posted after your escape. You were on lock down. No contact with the outside world." Peter sighs, suddenly wishing he'd never asked for the damn box to be brought to his house.

"My own escape attempt screwed me." The desolation that maybe everything could have been different if he hadn't reacted impulsively hit home hard.

"Neal what does it say?" Peter prompts when Neal's silently reads one of the letters for too long.

"It's a location. A time." Neal hands the letter over to Peter, who takes it with a healthy amount of scepticism.

"What am I looking at?"

"Third word on the third line from the top, every third line and word after that." Neal tells him tiredly.

"Not very sophisticated for you," Peter says as he checks. "I'd have thought they'd want to challenge you, after all…" His voice fades as he reads. "Oh Neal-"

"They planned this from the beginning." Neal stands and leaves the bedroom running.

His feet pounding the stairs Neal uses it to drown out the repeated calls of his name. Reaching the bottom step, he pushes his feet into his shoes and grabs a coat, it's not his, he didn't have one that he remembers, but doesn't care, he needs to leave and he needs to leave now.

"Neal, god damnit, STOP!"

"I didn't do it!" Mozzie shouts back, startled awake by the sudden commotion.

"Neal!" Peter grabs him before Neal can cross the threshold of the newly open front door.

"Let me go," Neal pulls out of Peter's grip easily and flies out the door.

…

"My own escape attempt screwed me."

Peter heard the desolation in his tone and in that moment should have realised things were about to go south and fast.

Kate's loss has been his gain. By the sounds of things, she and her sister massively under estimated Neal's childishness, likely assuming in the years they were apart he'd grown up. She obviously had. They clearly didn't expect him to break out with only four months left, if he reads all the letters he'll probably discover the rest of a wannabe sublime plot to twist the heart of a young man whose worst mistake seems to be falling for a girl who liked the finer things in life and had a low moral code. Neal's moral code was shaky, but as Peter has discovered while working with him, Neal honestly never means to hurt people. Or at least not those who don't deserve it. It isn't right by any means, but it proves he isn't a bad person at heart. Just misguided. Chances were good that had Neal not escaped he would have seen the letters, met up with Kate when he got out and either have ended up collateral damage for Adler or returned to his ways and the chase would have begun again, right where they left off.

Having lost him once already Peter wasn't giving up easily. As secretly arranged Jones was parked across the street, he apprehended Neal on the sidewalk with little effort, lightly restraining him as he marches him back inside the house.

"Thanks Jones," Peter nods, waiting calmly on the top step.

Jones hands Neal over, not releasing the grip on his wrists, pulled tight behind his back until Peter's standing between him and the door. They exchange a brief word, an update on the marshals before Jones returns to his car and Peter steps back inside.

"You sit at the table until you calm down." Peter points to the dinning chair on the end, the one facing the rear wall.

"You putting me in time out?" Neal snaps back, stomping his way over obligingly anyway.

"Call it what you like, but before you plan your next escape you may want to rethink your outfit." Peter rakes him up and down.

He watches comprehension dawn. Neal's wearing his dress shoes, Peter's too big hoodie, a water stained pair of sweat pants - because after his trip out into the yard to throw up he'd refused to change and simply let them dry. His face is flush, hair all over the place, wearing Peter's FBI windbreaker.

"It wouldn't take long for you to find me I guess." Neal offers a half smile.

Peter's heartened to see some of the old Caffrey still in there somewhere. "Or the marshals." He remains firm in his words. "Neal, I know this is hard and I can't imagine what you're feeling at the moment but you're going through withdrawal. You've got to trust me right now."

"I hate to keep agreeing with the suit," Mozzie interrupts, who until now had been hanging back, watching the action play out, "but I agree with the suit."

He aligns himself next to Peter, both of them looming over Neal who has decided to slump childishly in the dinning chair the wrong way around, legs spread either side, chin resting on the raised back glaring in the living room.

"I can't believe Kate was using me." Neal murmurs. "I just, can't."

"You see this is why emotions are your worse enemy. It's why it's best not to form attachments. No connections, no issues." Mozzie lectures while Peter's trying to keep Neal seated.

"Mozzie, you are not helping." Peter holds up his palm, indicating for him to shut up.

"She wouldn't do this Peter, she wouldn't. They were controlling her, they- she-"

"Was lying to you!" Peter shouts. "Kate lied to you Neal. I don't doubt she loved you once. But the girl who left you in prison that day was not the Kate you fell for." He lowers his voice, attempts to step closer. "Neal she was working with Alder, with Rowland."

"They could have threatened her, made her think she had no choice."

"It's possible. In the beginning." Peter concedes. "But what about after? When she had every opportunity to hand herself in and tell you the truth."

"She was worried they'd hurt me."

"She knew damn well that wouldn't happen while I was around. She wanted what Adler was offering. Only he didn't pay up, he killed her and he would have killed you too if you'd gotten on that plane and you know it." Peter turns, head in hand he walks away. This isn't how he wanted all this to come out. "Neal, I told you that day at Avery's, you're conning yourself if you think anything she did was because she cared about you."

His instincts where right, Kate never truly loved Neal, not in the way he deserves. She'd used him, used his feelings for her, manipulated him into giving Adler what he wanted, what she wanted. Something Peter's coming to realise is incredibly easy to do to Neal if you dangle the right prize. And Peter's learnt over the years of their chase, combined with their year of working together that the prize isn't what anyone would expect. It isn't money or riches the kid wants, it's security. Neal just wants somewhere to belong, he wants, of all things, a family. Peter just hopes after all this Neal finally realises he has one.

"Er, suit,"

"Not now Mozzie."

"Suit you best get over here!"

Peter glances briefly over at Neal, sees he's staring sorrowfully at the floor and leaves him to his sulk. He joins Mozzie who's looking out the living room window. "Crap."

"What?" Neal doesn't miss a beat.

"The marshal's." He sighs.

"Peter?"

He turns, sees the fear on Neal's face. "It's okay. I won't let them take you to Rikers. I promised you, didn't I?"

Mozzie looks between the two who are staring at each other in despair. "We need a plan."

Peter walks over to the table and hands Neal the clothes he'd brought down yesterday. Pulling him out of his seat he drags Neal to the back door.

"Go, I'll cover."

Neal's confusion turns into abject horror. "No," eyes watering he nearly doesn't find his words. "What about you?"

"I'll let them search the house, you've been staying here, having your stuff around won't be a surprise." Peter sighs, separating from Neal is the last thing he wants, but it's the only way to protect him. Protect them both. "I'll meet you at Columbus in one hour, if we're going to solve this we need to walk the scene together, jog more of your memories, okay?"

Neal shakes his head, all bravado suddenly absent. "No-"

"Mozzie will look after you." Peter glares at the little guy.

"Of course." Mozzie moves out into the yard, arm held out to grab the kid if necessary. "Come on, before the Pigs are at the gate."

"Peter," Neal implores once more.

"It's okay," he takes Neal quickly into his arms, squeezing tight and releasing him just as fast. "Now go."