A/N: Thank you for your review anon (Chapter 12); it was very high praise! All reviewers: I don't know what I'd do without all of your reviews; your support for this story is phenomenal! Thank you! And look- Chapter 13 is a little longer at least...

Beta Credit: Mam711 who constantly works in the shadows to make people like me happy! Thank you!

I do not own White Collar and all mistakes are my own!

Chapter 13: Fright

"When you realized it was El ..." Peter started.

Neal recalled that moment when he'd realized it was El. His jaw clenched at the memory. He'd felt overwhelmed with disbelief and completely helpless. And relieved—that it was only El, and that she wasn't in trouble like he was.

Peter didn't seem to notice Neal's nerves. "… how scared were you?"

Neal opened his mouth but the words failed him; Peter had been far too blunt. It wasn't often Neal had felt scared in his life; he could count the events on one hand. He took a deep breath and swallowed.

Peter aped Neal and swallowed uncomfortably. "That scared?"

Neal lowered his head. "Yeah, I did not see that coming."

Neal and Peter sat side by side, absorbed in their own thoughts for a few minutes before Peter spoke again, "I sent Elizabeth to her sister's."

Neal frowned, thinking about El's need for support. "But Peter, she needs your help."

Peter shook his head. "Not at the moment; no, at the moment she just needs some space. We all do."

Neal bit his lip doubtfully but didn't question Peter any further.

"We fought last night, Neal," Peter admitted. "She thinks..."

"What?" Neal watched Peter for visual cues. "She thinks what?"

Peter shrugged.

Neal just watched him for a few minutes before letting his curiosity get the better of him. "Did you ask her why? Why all this?"

Peter nodded briefly. "Something to do with Satchmo."

Neal blinked. "Satchmo?"

Peter turned his head to look at Neal who looked confused. He didn't blame Neal; he'd been confused himself when his wife had started talking about their dog…

They'd just been arguing about where the line lay when it came to kidnapping friends when Peter decided to change the subject.

"El," Peter rubbed his temples. "Where did all this even come from? Why—when did you start thinking like this?"

El stilled. For a few minutes she just thought. Peter recognized that she was remembering something.

"El?"

Elizabeth sighed and pulled out a chair before sitting down. "About five months ago," she finally replied.

Before Peter could ask her to elaborate, El glanced at Satchmo and continued.

"Neal came by to deliver some samples from the Greatest Cake for a client's party."

Peter sat down on another chair and leaned forward, head resting on clasped hands, and waited.

"Just as he was leaving, I asked him what he intended to do. After he finished. You know; the sentence." El's voice became strained. "He smiled and made some light joke."

Peter lifted his head. "That's why—?"

"No, I'm not finished," El interrupted.

Peter bit down his words and gave a small reluctant nod.

"While we were talking at the door," El explained. "Satchmo slipped past us. He went straight for a cat across the road."

Peter looked up, frowning. El nodded.

"There was a truck coming."

The question formed on Peter's lips but he knew El would answer.

"Neal only just managed to catch him, inches from the truck."

Peter looked at Satchmo who was now dozing.

"When Neal brought him back …" El continued vaguely, "… I told Satchmo off."

El turned to look at Peter in the eye. "Neal stopped me; he assured me that it was fine. That it wasn't Satchmo's fault, that he didn't know any better."

El blinked and then stood. "That's when I started thanking him. He put on his Neal Caffrey grin and assured me that what he did was the only decent thing to do. Because he knew better than Satchmo, that it was only expected that he'd do what he did. It was his responsibility, being that he was the only one close enough to stop him."

Peter stood and shook his head slightly at his wife. "So you took that as permission from Neal to what…? Save him?"

El rolled her eyes. "No, Peter. That's just what made me think about how maybe Neal needs this. He won't slow down long enough to see, just like Satchmo and his tunnel vision with the truck. You guys had him on his toes for four years. He didn't stop. You told him day in, day out that he shouldn't and couldn't and he … he did, Peter. And you closed the case, smiled and moved on. That's like me patting Satchmo and then putting him on the front porch."

He steadied himself and did his best to look understanding without being patronizing. "El, Neal is a little smarter than Satchmo."

El waved off his words. "Forget how smart they are, the fact remains, Satchmo doesn't know any better, which is why we never let him out the front door. It's our responsibility. Because we know better. And Neal—he wants to go out there and do things he thinks are okay. We know better, Peter. We have a responsibility to Neal to protect him as much as with Satchmo."

Peter stared at his wife. It would be so easy to assume that El had simply been affected by stress and had thus crossed that line between the sane and ... the not sane. But he looked into her eyes. She knew what she was doing.

"El, it's illegal."

"So was stealing that tape to protect Neal," El pointed out sharply, "and ignoring Neal's unique way of solving cases, letting him get away with those crimes, like stealing that Houstenburg … holding a gun to Fowler. You probably made him worse, Peter."

Peter gritted his jaw and stared at his hands, unable to deny Elizabeth's accusations.

Elizabeth came around the corner of the table that had been between them and she spoke softly, "You and the FBI tried, honey. It didn't work, so now I'm going to try. Whether you understand or not."

"Well," Neal sighed, when Peter had told him the basics. "That's ludicrous."

"Yeah, we talked all night. Look, Neal, I can see where she's coming from," Peter muttered, "but if she hasn't come to her senses in a week, then I'm not going to have a choice."

"What?" Neal gaped. "Peter, you wouldn't turn her in."

Peter looked at Neal. "Why not? Doesn't she deserve it?"

Neal scowled. "Oh, come on, Peter, of course not, that's like saying you deserve to be arrested."

"Why would I deserve to be arrested?"

Neal stared at Peter. "You're doing exactly what she did."

"No, I'm not," Peter denied.

"Peter," Neal spoke simply. "You just checked to make sure I couldn't escape. You're as guilty as she is."

Peter cocked his head, confused. "It's completely different."

"No," Neal asserted calmly. "She thought she was protecting me just like you're protecting her."

There was silence as Peter contemplated the truth of Neal's words.

"Okay," Peter finally conceded nervously. "So we both deserve to be locked up."

Neal rolled his eyes. "Have you not been listening to me? Neither of you deserve to be locked up."

When Peter didn't respond, Neal continued. "You were both motivated by supposedly good reasons; granted, I don't understand Elizabeth's reasons, but I know she's a good person and so are you. The road to hell…."

Peter shifted. "I don't get it, Neal; one second you try your hardest to be let go and now you're moralizing our actions?"

Neal lifted a hand in protest. "Hey, I never said I was happy about it; I still want out, I'm just saying it's never simple, okay? And your actions are far from moral! They're human."

Peter looked away. Neal was right; nothing was simple. But despite that thought, all he could think was that, try as he might, he couldn't follow Neal's reasoning.

Neal raked his hair. "Peter, do you have your phone?"

Peter looked at Neal suspiciously. "Why?"

Neal rolled his eyes. "Why else, Peter; I need to call Elizabeth."

Peter understood but he shook his head. "No, Neal."

Neal frowned. "You can dial it if you're worried about..."

Peter sighed. "It's not that, Neal, I meant no to calling Elizabeth."

Neal turned, gesturing silently, eyebrows crinkling together. "Why not? I need to tell Elizabeth that she's being ridiculous."

Peter nodded. "I appreciate that, but you can tell her when she gets back."

"Why?" Neal challenged. "Peter, now you're being ridiculous."

"No," Peter replied forcefully tiring of Neal's protests. "I don't want you interrupting El; she needs to stop thinking about you for a couple of days."

Neal scoffed angrily. "Peter, she's not going to stop wondering about what's going on here; you can't stop her thinking about it—you're being impossible."

"Shush, Neal!" Peter growled.

Neal glared in silence.

Peter inwardly felt shock constrict his chest; even when angry it seemed Neal followed Peter's orders … even when free—but Neal wasn't free, was he? Peter sighed, glancing involuntarily at Neal's ankle manacle, invisible beneath the slacks he wore, but the chain trailing from under the hem signified its presence and Peter settled his sight on that instead. He felt strange suddenly at the sight of the thick steel chain and couldn't work it out. But it was comforting—no; calming. Slowly he relaxed, and his breathing evened.

Neal moved his ankle and Peter looked back up at Neal. Neal was staring at him and Peter realized Neal's casual movement had been deliberate. Peter swallowed, wondering if he should say something.

"You like it, don't you?"

Peter almost missed the question; Neal had spoken softly, almost as if he didn't want to break Peter's order too much, but when Peter looked up expecting a questioning gaze and maybe even an apologetic grimace he only saw a guarded acceptance. The question had been more of a statement, Peter realized.

Peter turned away. "What are you talking about, Neal?"

Neal shifted next to Peter and spoke softly, "You like that sound, don't you, Peter?"

Peter shook his head. "What sound?"

Then he heard it; it was louder this time because Neal was making a point of it: the metallic drag of metal on wood as the chain was moved back then forth.

Peter turned back to Neal. "No, what are you—why would I like that?" Peter knew, though, that his possessive eyes and quick, almost-mechanical answer didn't fool Neal.

Neal smirked dangerously, a glint of annoyance in his eyes. "Well, I guess Elizabeth got you an early Christmas present."