"Neal", said Peter, leaning down near Neal's desk, not even a full week later. "We got him." Peter smiled, grim satisfaction on his face while repeating the words. "We got him."

The words were cryptic, and they were working on half a dozen cases at the moment. Neal glanced up at Peter, startled, wondering-

Peter meant Crawley. The look in his eye, the smile on his face-Crawley.

Neal smiled, tried to make it look like it was supposed to look (how was it supposed to look? He didn't even know, so he defaulted to happy and breezy and cheerful but clearly that was wrong, because Peter was giving him an odd look but-)

They'd gotten Crawley. But-

Neal forced himself not to think about it. Not to think about it.

The next few hours were a blur. His mind raced with a thousand questions. He asked none of them. He threw himself into paperwork and cases and chatting with anyone who'd listen. He avoided Peter, who kept trying to get him alone, spending most of the afternoon conveniently away from Peter's reach, consulting in whichever other department had been trying to get him, and some that hadn't. But then, then all that was left was the subway and home.

And his mind wouldn't stop spinning. They'd gotten Crawley, Peter had said. Did that mean they'd just found something, but were still investigating? Had they arrested him? Was he already in jail? Neal hadn't asked, hadn't wanted to know-but now, he needed to know. It was late-late in the day, Peter was at home, at home with Elizabeth-he could call, Peter wouldn't-Peter would be irritated, he couldn't ask-

Even if he wasn't in jail, Neal reasoned, even if he'd just been charged, they'd suspend Crawley, at least during the investigation, at the very least. Neal wondered what kind of evidence they had. He wondered how strong it was, particularly if he didn't-and he had no intention to-testify.

But-but they would've suspended Crawley without notice, without warning. How would Jacobs get his morphine for the cancer pain that he didn't want to tell the authorities he had? He still had two years left. Crawley just snuck it to him, no questions asked, no payment either. He'd just said he had a grandma that had died, once, and no one should have to suffer that.

And sometimes-sometimes Crawley had been - kind. He'd-Neal had once been in the infirmary on his birthday, and while Crawley hadn't let him out, he'd-he'd taken him out to the yard, let him stay there for hours, and had given him ice cream after. It hadn't-Neal remembered the ice cream, cold and sweet on his tongue. He'd never tasted anything so good.

And once, once when Neal actually had been sick, Crawley had-

Neal lay on his bed and tried not to think about it. What Crawley had done-it hadn't actually been that bad, some of the men in there-some of the men had been through worse-before Crawley, Neal had been through worse and, marked as the good doctor's, Neal had at least been spared the attentions of the other inmates, so in a way Crawley had done him a favour-and Neal hadn't wanted to press charges, hadn't even wanted anyone to investigate, he hadn't, but he'd agreed, in the end he'd agreed-

He lay on his bed, and tried to sleep. He drifted, for who knows how long, until his mind seized on a thought and wouldn't let go.

They'd kill Crawley in prison. He'd be beaten, and raped, and eventually murdered. He wasn't like Neal-he wouldn't survive. He wouldn't-

He could picture Crawley, bleeding and battered, begging for mercy. He imagined Jacobs, cursing Neal in the middle of the night while he writhed in pain. Neal was responsible. It was all his fault. How could he have let this happen? How could he have let-

He needed to talk to Peter. He needed to talk to Peter, right now, he had to, he had to -

The phone was in his hand and he was dialing without thinking.

"Burke." Peter's voice barked into the phone, rough with sleep. Peter had been sleeping, he'd -

"Peter? Peter, I just-I needed-" Neal couldn't organize his thoughts, he shouldn't have called-

"Caffrey, it's past two in the morning, where are you?" Peter's voice was loud and peevish in Neal's ear, and Neal didn't know how-

"I -" The phone shook in his hand.

Peter interrupted whatever he'd been about to say, demanding, "Are you okay?"

Neal swallowed, taking a breath, looking up at the clock, and realizing, "I'm - I'm fine, I'm at home, I just, I didn't know, I hadn't looked at the time, tell Elizabeth I'm sorry-" he knew he'd woken Elizabeth, he hadn't meant to, but he had to know, he had to explain, had to-

"Okay, okay, slow down. What's this about, Neal?" Peter's voice was suddenly calm and so, so gentle and reasonable, Neal wanted to cry-Peter would fix it, Peter had to fix it-

"Nothing, it's fine, I - it can wait, it can-" Hearing Peter's voice was almost enough, nothing would change in the next few hours, he should never have called, he could tell Peter in the morning-

"Neal. I'm coming over, okay? Whatever it is, we'll sort it out." Peter's voice had turned soothing, like he was talking down a vic-

Oh, God, what had he done? Peter couldn't come, what would he say, he was behaving like an idiot-"No! No, it's fine, I didn't mean-"

"I'm coming," Peter's voice was firm and strong and brooked no argument. "You stay there, and don't do anything until I get there, all right? Got it? Just hang tight. I'm on my way."

"No," said Neal helplessly, appalled at himself, he was getting everything wrong but now Peter was determined and he didn't know what to say-"you don't need to-"

"Neal," said Peter. "You're my friend, and I want to come. It's okay. I'll be there in half an hour."

Of course, as soon as Peter hung up the phone, that feeling of frantic returned, even if he'd convinced himself, while Peter was talking to him, that he could wait-he got up, he sat down, he made himself tea, but nothing helped and so he resorted to going out on the terrace and pacing and repeatedly telling himself that Peter was on his way and everything was okay until there was a knock at the door..

Neal came inside, through the French doors. He started walking towards the door. Peter was knocking. "Neal?" called Peter.

And Neal froze.

Peter was there. What would he say? What would he do? What-

And suddenly, Peter was inside. Peter was here and Neal, whose trademark was glib words and bright smiles, had nothing. No words. No smiles. Nothing.

Peter smiled ruefully, somewhat awkward. "I think I disturbed June."

Neal didn't answer. Because now that Peter was finally here, Neal didn't know how to tell him. Didn't know what to tell him. Didn't know how to ask. It was important that Neal ask in the right way, but Peter-Peter was hard. Peter knew Neal too well to fall for the usual things, and this was-

"Neal." Peter was right in front of him. "What's up?"

Neal was trying not to show his nervousness, but he suspected Peter knew.

"Neal. Why don't you sit down. You're cold." Peter was steering Neal towards the couch, and Neal was going unresisting. But this wasn't right.

He didn't need Peter for this. He needed-

"I need you to do something for me," Neal blurted.

Peter lifted an eyebrow, sitting across from Neal in a chair. "What is it?"

"I need you to agree first." The words were out before he could think it through, and of course, Peter caught that-the desperation and the ridiculousness. To Peter's credit, he didn't mock him for it.

"Neal," said Peter patiently and sincerely, "you know I can't do that, not without knowing what it is." Peter's voice was gentle, too gentle. Neal wanted to scream. "But if you tell me what it is, and if it's reasonable and not illegal, you know I'll see what I can do."

"I-I can't-"

"Neal. Look. It's just you and me here, Neal. Just the two of us. You can tell me, you can trust me, Neal. What is it?" Peter's voice was low and deep and reassuring, lulling Neal into believing him. Neal wanted to guard against it-these were tricks, he knew these tricks, he used these tricks and Peter, Peter was good, but-

"Neal. Come on, Neal. Just you and me. Talk to me." Peter's voice was deep and reassuring, and Neal was so, so tempted-

Neal took a breath, closed his eyes. "I-I need you to stop the investigation. Just-just stop it, drop it, let it go. Please."

"Neal. I can't do that." Peter's voice was soft, but there was an undercurrent of steel.

Neal could feel the panic rising. It hadn't worked, it hadn't, he knew it wouldn't, and Crawley, Crawley was going to die and it was his fault, and how could he live with himself- "Please, Peter, please, you don't understand-"

Peter cut him off ruthlessly. "I understand that he hurt you. That he could hurt others. That he probably has."

"But Peter-" Neal interrupted desperately.

"But nothing," said Peter harshly, before leaning forward, taking Neal's cold hands in his own, rubbing briskly before letting go just as abruptly, almost as if he realized what he was doing. "Neal-Neal, he hurt you." Peter swallowed, and Neal could see that Peter was not nearly as calm as he was trying to appear.

"But Peter-Peter, he's a doctor. A doctor. He helps people. He helped me, too. You don't understand-I'm just a con, and he can save lives, I saw him-" He saw him help the sick, help the injured, he'd even fed Neal soup and Tylenol, once, when Neal had the flu, and Crawley stayed by him-

"Neal!" exploded Peter. "That does not give him the right-"

"Please, Peter." Neal saw an opening, tried to make his voice even and reasonable and calm. "If you continue this, if you let this happen, then others will be hurt, more than just a few, all the guys that need him-" There were a lot, Crawley could do a lot of good-

Peter sighed, and got up and crossed over to the kitchen area, opening the fridge. Neal blinked. "What are you doing?"

"Getting a beer. You used to-bingo! I hid some in your crisper."

Neal stood up, took a step forward. "You hid beer in my crisper?"

"Yeah. You know. I wanted to make sure you didn't throw it out." Peter sounded like hiding beer in your C.I's fridge was a normal thing to do.

Meanwhile, Neal was still processing. "You hid beer. In my crisper."

"Yeah. Made sense. Now. Let's talk about why you're not making any. Wine?"

Neal shook his head. "Peter-"

"Neal. Come and sit back down. Now, tell me what, exactly, will happen if we continue this investigation, and why, exactly, you don't want it to happen."

"Stop making me sound crazy." Neal's voice was bitter.

"I'm not. I am, however, trying to make you see reason." Peter sounded exasperated, but like he was trying to hide it, his words slow and deliberate.

Neal, meanwhile, was increasingly desperate to have Peter understand. "Why are you so convinced I am wrong? Please, Peter, I never meant-"

"I know, Neal. I know you didn't-but it doesn't matter, don't you see? This isn't about you-or at least, this isn't only about you. It's about him, and what he's done."

"But it doesn't matter, don't you see? It wasn't-"

"Neal. Neal, it does matter. He's not allowed to hurt you. No one gets to hurt you, not like that, not for any reason. I don't care what he told you-and yeah, this has his bullshit written all over it, but he conned you, do you get it? He conned you and somehow, somehow he hurt you badly enough that you bought it. And if he did it to you, he did it someone else, and that, that alone should be enough-and he did hurt others, there were complaints, and investigations, but none of them went anywhere, because usually the victim withdrew."

"I'm not a victim," snapped Neal. "Don't say that, I, I wasn't-"

"Okay. Okay. Neal, Neal, it's okay. Because whatever happens now, whatever happens to him, it's not your fault, and it's not in your control. If it hadn't been you, it would've been someone else-he's been living on borrowed time, borrowed at your expense-and it just ran out. This isn't your fault, okay? None of this is your fault."

"But you said-" began Neal.

"Neal, you deserved to be locked up for your crimes. You did. But that was enough. That was all. That was the only consequence. You didn't deserve what happened, and you don't deserve to be punished now. I don't want you to be. Surely you can see that?"

"I don't, I don't understand-" Neal babbled in genuine confusion, overwhelmed with everything happening.

"I know," interrupted Peter. "I know you don't now, but we're going to work on that, and you will." He gripped Neal's hands in his own. "I promise, Neal, you will."

End! Thank you to anyone who has made it this far! As always, comments, long or short, either positive or negative or both, are always appreciated. :-)