Chapter 14

The morning comes too soon for Peter. After spending the night slumped in the plastic chair beside Neal's bed, he really needs coffee and a shower, but his phone's ringing and Hughes' assistant summoning him to the office signals the short reprieve he'd been granted yesterday is over. It's time to face the consequences of his actions over the last four days. Neal's still asleep, like he has been on and off since his emotional outburst yesterday. The one they haven't spoken a word about yet. Much like the one at his house the other evening and the one on the bridge before that. He means to, really, he does. He promised El after all. But he's not alone in his avoidance. Neal certainly hasn't brought any of it up during his brief moments of lucidity, and with the drugs still making their way out of his system Peter's inclined to follow his lead. They need to talk obviously, and he fully intends to keep his promise to his wife, but timing is everything where Neal's concerned. He's learnt that the hard way.

Peter runs a hand through his hair and stretches, then takes a moment to watch Neal's chest rise and fall, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. Twelve short months ago Neal Caffrey was nothing more than a name brought up around the FBI watercooler.

"Hey, remember that guy who sent champagne to the surveillance van?"

Peter never forgot who Neal was, how could he? Kid sent him birthday and Christmas cards like clockwork for all four years of his sentence. Peter never responded back, eyebrows would have been raised higher-up if he tried, but when his thoughts drifted to the irrepressible young man and the urge to know how the kid was doing hit, he'd drop a call to the prison and get an update. All under the pretence of future planning of course, after all, Neal wouldn't be behind bars forever – or so he had thought. Seeing him face to face for the first time since his sentencing in that empty loft, so broken, lost and alone, accepting another four years with indifference Peter couldn't help but feel a little sorry that his story didn't have a happier ending.

Now twelve months on, the story is completely different. Neal has gone from someone he arrested, and only occasionally thought about, to someone who occupies his thoughts and guest bedroom on a regular basis. El and Neal are the two most important people in his life.

Even in his head that doesn't make sense!

Peter blames Neal for it whole heartedly. He has an infectious personality which makes you want to pet him and strangle at the same time. If the kid wasn't so damn loveable, with his honest shyness and unassuming manner - and yes, he's aware if he actually described Neal like that to anyone at the FBI they'd be calling the shrink on him, but that's who Neal truly is deep down - Peter gets that now. Probably thinks he always knew there was an unfathomable vulnerability beneath that cocky bravado. He just never let himself acknowledge the whole 'confidence act' as more than a way to break the law before because if he had it would have been impossible to put him in jail, where Neal's crimes dictated he belonged. Which, Peter guesses, is why he has such a problem with the idea of sending the kid to prison now.

Counting this whole mess as one, Neal has now broken down and cried openly in his arms twice in the short time they've been partners, there's been other times he's come close, but only twice has he thrown the mask aside and let himself be completely vulnerable in front of him. Falling apart after watching the love of his life perish in flames doesn't even needed to be questioned, yesterday's sobbing though, drugs or no, there's more to it. Peter can feel it.

He has an idea what that something is, but like he's already established, timing is everything and there are more pressing matters at hand. Like keeping his badge and proving Neal innocent of murder in the next - he checks his watch - three hours forty minutes. With his deadline set Peter wastes no more time debating on a friendship he can't explain and leaving a message with the nurse in case Neal wakes up before he's back, Peter heads into White Collar. Giving the guard outside a respectable nod on the way out.

…

"Peter," Hughes greets neutrally from the visitor's chair in Peter's office.

"Reece?"

"Take a seat."

Peter does as he's instructed and Hughes watches him carefully. Seeing the hunched shoulders and tired gaze, taking his time over shutting the door and eventually moving around the desk to take his seat, Reece knows his agent's preparing for the worst.

"I wasn't expecting you to come to me." Peter fidgets, fingers tapping a steady rhythm against his restless knee.

Reece smiles. He likes throwing his people off their game. "I know it's Sunday, but I figured you'd want to get this over and done with."

Peter sighs, leaning forward to place both palms flat on his desk, a pensive frown marring his brow, looking like he's very carefully reciting what he wants to say in his head before saying it out loud.

"I know I went against the bureau on this one and I'll accept whatever I have coming-"

"Damn right you will." Reece snaps, angry that his agents had essentially gone rogue and worked against the US marshals, but his tone quickly softens upon reminding himself exactly why Peter had made those risky decisions. Whether he approves of it or not, Caffrey had become an intricate part of Peter Burke's life. "How's he doing?"

Peter slumps back in his seat. "The drugs are playing hell with his system. Doesn't remember much still, or so he says. Fever, chills, confusion..." he breathes out, looking hesitant to share but like he'll need hospitalising himself if he doesn't. "He seems stable for now but…" He ends on a shrug.

Reece nods, knowing there's much more, but respecting his desire not to share too much. "Peter, you realise what position you put the department in when you removed Caffrey from under the watch of the marshals?"

"He's my responsibility." Peter stands firm.

"He's our responsibility." Reece wants to make that damn clear. Caffrey is every one's headache. "My name is on his work release forms too."

"Reece the marshal's they…" Peter pauses, takes a deep breath, "I was just trying to keep him safe."

"I know." Hughes nods. "Any idea when he'll be discharged?"

"He's on antibiotics for prolonged exposure to the water, but aside from the side effects of the drugs he's essentially healthy. Should be okay to leave sometime this morning."

It should be good news, but the desolation in his tone is hard to miss. Reece sits back in his chair, takes a minute to assess the man he considers a good agent and friend. Peter looks worn, black marks under his eyes and a stiffness to his posture indicative of having spent the night sleeping in a chair. The idea of Caffrey going back to prison is a concept all of them should be prepared to accept, but looking at his agent now, he's certain if it were to happen that would be the end of Peter Burke as Reece knows him.

"Then I guess we better get on with this," he pauses and let's Peter believe the worse, for his own gratification more so than anything. He can't have his Agents going rogue every day damnit, even if it is for good reason, "so I can get my best agent and his C.I back to work."

Hughes' smug smile widens at the surprise on Peter's face. He lets the stare-off last less than a few seconds because he's positive Peter will explode with questions if he doesn't put him out of his misery. "The marshals called while you were still at the hospital, their man Dickerson-"

"-marshal Marshall Dickerson?" Peter's grin widens.

"I refuse to call him that." Reece emphasises with a double finger point, trying to smother his own amusement. "It appears he took your unsupported allegations seriously and went looking for this Terrell woman."

"They found her?"

"Turns out that's what the marshal's do best. Caffrey excluded," He allows himself a small smile of pride at that, but whether it's for Peter's ability to find Neal or Caffrey's ability to evade the US marshals he isn't sure. Probably a little of both. "She was supposed to be living on a secluded ranch in the Colorado Rockies. Funny thing about secluded locations, it's hard to know when someone's missing."

"What was she doing in New York?"

"That's what we're planning to ask her."

Peter blinks, stands and stumbles back, has to grab the chair for support. "She's here?"

Reece waits a beat for the good news to settle. "Dickerson brought her in less than an hour ago. I've arranged for Jones and Diana to collect Caffrey from the hospital-" Peter opens his mouth to interrupt and he quickly shuts him up with a raised hand. "They're taking him to your house and will sit on him until this is resolved. Which will be sometime today Agent Burke, is that clear?"

A true smile grows on Peter's face for the first time since this crap-fest started. "Yes sir."

….

"Marshal Dickerson." Peter holds out his hand.

Dickerson looks at it before relenting, "You don't owe me Burke. I was doing my job, when someone's on the run I will move every rock to make sure they are brought to justice. That includes your boy Caffrey."

"Fair enough, but thank you anyway."

They share a look that signals they'll certainly never be friends; however, a mutual professional understanding has been reached.

"So," Peter turns, looks through the one-way glass and indicates the woman sat alone in the interrogation room, "catch me up."

"Turns out Amber Terrell has been in contact with her former boss Carlton Hayes for the past two years, which violates her deal." Dickerson nods, exuding a smug smile. "Seems while you were assisting Caffrey to evade arrest she was getting ready to put the final part of her plan into action. We found evidence of communications dating back to 2007. Details of the investigation against the company and on the search for Hayes. Looked like they were using the ranch as a base to store intel on several computer servers. Everything run off the grid via satellites can you believe that? Your FBI geek counterparts are going through it now."

"Now we just need to connect her to the forgeries, robbery and murder." Peter's excited at the prospect.

"Well that's your job not mine." The marshal dismisses, suddenly feigning disinterest. "I just bring them in. What happens afterwards is none of my concern."

Peter nods in understanding, not buying a word of it. "Look," he starts awkwardly. "I realise the lines are blurred where Caffrey's concerned, but thank you." He hesitates, a move that Dickerson notices.

"Okay, what?"

"I'm going to ask you for another favour." Peter says cryptically, handing over a folded piece of paper.

"Another one," Dickerson grumbles good naturedly. He takes it, reads it and without another word tips his chin, leaving with a very Caffrey-esque spring to his step.

Confident he's done as much as he can there, Peter refocuses his brain power on how he's going to break Terrell when Jones walks in. "I thought you were collecting Neal?"

"We did." Jones positions himself next to Peter, slumping against the glass. "Diana's staying with him, as is your wife."

"El's home?" Peter looks at his phone, discovering the missed calls.

"She said to tell you they're fine, and not to miss dinner." Jones tries, and fails, to smother a yawn.

Peter smiles brightly, "Okay then. Seems we're both on a deadline. Let's do this."

…

When Peter tiptoes through the door to his home hours later it's already dark outside and the cool winter air creeps in with him. Diana's sat at the table with El, both drinking coffees in the low lighting of the lamp. He offers them a grateful smile and quickly makes his way over, greeting his wife with the kiss she so rightly deserves.

"God, I missed you." They hug for all their worth, like they've not seen each other in months.

"Yeah, I hear it's been an eventful weekend." El turns in his grasp to wink at Diana.

"You can never leave again." He jokes, sneaking in another quick squeeze before letting her go.

"Is it over?"

El's question has both woman looking at him intently, an unspoken order to provide good news. Peter turns without answering and retraces his steps back through the living room, El on his heels. Both Burke's hover over the sleeping, blanket covered lump on their couch.

Peter bends down, runs one hand through Neal's damp, curly, gel free hair splayed over the little green throw cushion. "How's he been?"

"Quiet." Diana answers from her seat at his dining room table, displaying a satisfied grin that says his worlds have collided in more ways than with just Neal.

"He refused to go to bed until you were home." El smiles, nodding at the man in question, curled into an impossibly small ball, quiet as a god damn mouse.

Peter rests his palm against Neal's forehead, "still too warm."

"Temperature's been up and down, but the doctor said that's to be expected for a few days."

Diana actually sounds like she cares, which she does, he knows, just not usually in such an obvious way. Neal being unconscious probably has a lot to do with it. Peter chooses to nod and not ask any more questions. His head is full of fears, images of Neal; Neal holding a gun on him, Neal standing precariously close to a slippery ledge, Neal falling and disappearing below the dark surface of the East river, you name it he's imagined it. Those feelings aren't leaving him, Peter knows, and he also knows you don't need to be living out of the other person's pocket for their near death to affect you. Begrudgingly or not Diana likes Neal, therefore seeing him like that, nearly losing him, it's going to change things.

His hand must have lingered too long… "You're home?" Neal shuffles beneath his touch and sleepily blinks up at him.

"Hey buddy," Peter's smile is soft and genuine as drops next to him, squeezing onto the cushions. "How you feeling?"

"Like roadkill," Neal hisses, briefly closing his eyes and turning over to lie flat. "What happened?"

Peter swipes the too hot forehead again, brushing the damp locks out of his eyes. "Well you got yourself drugged. Again. And I had to catch you. Again."

"I meant with Amber." Neal smiles dopily, taking the hit as intended.

Peter doesn't bother asking how he knew she was in custody, already certain he nagged Jones and Diana the second they showed up at the hospital to bring him home. "She confessed to hiring Rowland to swap out original paintings for forgeries at the gallery. It's how she was funding her little operation, but since it resulted in a murder she's being charged as an accessory." Peter says sombrely. "She claims anything Rowland did outside of that wasn't part of anyone's plan, but then that's what you get for hiring a crazy person."

Neal closes his eyes, stays that way for a while before opening them again. He doesn't ask any more question about Terrell.

"Marshals coming for me?" His voice is resigned and all Peter wants to do is hug the despair right out of him.

"No," he settles for a pat to his chest instead. "Everyone agrees you're a victim in this. The forgeries you made will go into evidence, you're a witness to a violent crime and there's enough extenuating circumstances that you won't be charged for anything you did under the influence. You may have to testify, but given her history I'm sure she'll make a deal."

He can hear El breathe a sigh of relief beside him. It takes Neal a moment longer for all the information to sink in and settle, but Peter waits patiently and eventually the words he knows are coming hit the air.

"She wanted revenge for Kate." Neal has the grace to avoid eye contact, focusing on the blanket pooled in his lap, bunching it in his fists and pulling at the weak strands of wool until the edge is horrendously misshapen.

"She wanted revenge for herself." Peter corrects, knowing they were talking about Rowland now and not at all feeling the usual smugness for being right. "They both used you for their own gain." Peter sighs. "If we hadn't looked closer then I dare say their plan might have succeeded."

"You mean if you hadn't vouched for me with the marshals?" Neal looks up adoringly.

Peter turns away, unable to deal with the kid bestowing him with praise he doesn't deserve. "Neal there's something I need to tell you-"

"I know if it wasn't for you I'd have been sent back to prison and no one would have looked beyond the surface evidence. I owe you my life." Neal smiles warmly. "Again."

"If it wasn't for the murder," Peter couldn't find the words that wouldn't hurt.

"You saying you might not have believed me?"

On hearing the plea, El squeezes his shoulder and steps away. Peter internally thanks her, but still he can't answer Neal's question. At the time he hadn't questioned anything, not beyond the surface, but since getting the confession he needed, the urgency dying down, Peter embarked on a ritual he completes after every closed case. He sat in his office and evaluated his thoughts, his actions. Most he's managed to come to terms with, but there was one thought, one action that gave him pause and after everything they've been through, all the tears and confessions, Peter doesn't feel right keeping it to himself.

If the gallery assistant hadn't been killed in front of Neal the plan might well have gone off without a hitch. Neal would have been implicated in the break in and when the forgeries were found, with Kate's sister as his fence, why wouldn't Peter, with all the evidence, not believe it possible Neal was involved? As it was, witnessing the murder under the influence of drugs affected Neal so severely he tried to throw himself off the Brooklyn Bridge. Neal's behaviour after that, it was all so out of character Peter had every reason to believe there was more going on.

"I'm saying… I'm sorry." Peter sighs long and hard, keeping it short and sweet and hoping to god Neal doesn't hate him for it. "For all those times I don't believe you when I really should."

The silence stretches, Neal staring, wide eyed and totally unreadable.

"Okay you need to stop now," he laughs finally. "I'm sick, still feeling the after effects of psychedelic drugs and liable to burst into tears any minute." He punctuates his statement with, of all things a wide yawn, which appears to take him by surprise if the blush is anything to go by.

Peter chuckles, relaxing immediately. "Okay, I'll stop." He watches Neal's light smile fade, the dark circles under his eyes standing out in even greater clarity. Peter takes an arm, pulling him to sit up. "We should get you to bed."

Neal let's Peter manoeuvre him as he pleases, raising his voice as he stands. "Elizabeth's home now, don't you think she'll mind me sharing your bed?"

"Neal," Peter growls, looking to the women sitting at the table watching them, trying not to laugh. "It's not what it sounds like."

"Peter, I'm hurt." Neal starts walking up the stairs without support. "Did that night mean nothing?"

Running away from the amused chuckling of his wife and junior agent Peter catches him up. "Get upstairs." He gives Neal an angry nudge, practically pushing him up the last few steps.

….

Neal feels the hand in his back and moves up the stairs with greater urgency. Pulling away from his consummate helper once he reaches the landing, Neal makes it as far as the bedroom door before the inevitable happens. He had sensed it coming, the familiar wave of dizziness that's been plaguing him on and off since this whole mess started.

"Damn it, Neal!" Peter curses seconds after he hits the floor with a resounding thump.

Buffering himself against the master bedroom door frame Neal rolls until his back is pressed against the wall and takes a minute to assimilate to his predicament before trying to solve it.

Peter's glaring down at him. "You going to lie there all day?" He asks much more quietly.

Squinting up at him, he looks sorry Neal thinks. "I'm considering it." He answers lightly, trying to restore some dignity. "Of course, sleeping outside your bedroom door like Satchmo isn't my first choice but…"

"Alright, get up."

Disgruntled Neal grimaces when Peter grabs his arm and drags him up without care or grace, like he's a tiny child, fit to be moved around at his parent's every whim. "You're mean."

"It happens when I get no sleep and stuck babysitting a pain in the ass." Peter pushes him towards the bathroom.

He stumbles through the doorway, grabbing hold of the sink for support. "Well you could let me go home."

"Yeah," Peter disappears for a second, returning with a pile of clothes which is quickly placed on the heated towel rail. "Nice try."

Neal feigns a disappointed look and let's Peter help him wash up and change into pyjamas without a fight. It should feel weird, having his privacy violated in such a way, but this is their dance. Peter invades his space, treats him like an incompetent toddler and Neal lets him while complaining about it. As much as he misses his apartment and the space it affords, Neal really doesn't want to be alone right now. Likewise, he knows Peter actually doesn't mind having him here. He knows this because although he maybe a stand-up guy, Peter is an FBI Agent at heart. He had no qualms leaving him in that filthy motel with the dog and so he'd have had no issues with him recovering in his apartment. No one said he needed supervision and June would have been more than happy to keep him company if they did. Peter wants him here, where he can see him and more than anything Neal likes being seen, especially by Peter. It's a win/win for both of them.

Before Prison – the first time - Neal would have had to commit a crime or pull off some magnificent stunt to get his attention, but since they've been partners Peter's spent plenty of time with him, even if all he's doing is reading through a case file. Peter involves him in cases he could solve with his eyes closed. And it doesn't escape Neal's notice just how often Peter has him in his office, asking him to show him one trick or another. Sometimes Peter learns something new along the way and sometimes he just pretends to. Neal knows he should have clued in sooner, but in the end realised he actually doesn't mind being conned. Not by Peter anyway, and not when the motivation is simply to indulge him in his chosen topic. He can't remember the last time anyone has ever done that for him. He can't remember anyone doing that for him ever...

That's a lie, Neal thinks suddenly. Ellen. Ellen always made time for him. He didn't make it easy for her, he got in trouble - a lot. But Ellen was always the person who'd turn up to get him out of it, just like Peter does now-

"Hey you okay?"

Neal blinks, sees he's standing next to the twin bed in the Burke's guest bedroom, staring down at the pulled back covers like he has no idea what to do next.

"Yeah," he swallows, pushing away memories of his past and trying to remember how he got here, "sorry…I was…" He runs shaking fingers through his hair, trying to hide the trembling, "-thinking."

"Those were some heavy thoughts." With one hand Peter grabs his arm, pushes him down to sit on the bed with the other.

Neal's quietly compliant. Mind too busy trying to separate Peter's words just now from those Kelly Rowland spoke to him on the bridge to attempt any kind of redirect.

"Neal," Neal flinches when Peter pulls the chair over and sits down opposite him, trapping Neal's legs between his knees. "We need to talk."