CHAPTER 21

"Neal. Neal, pay attention."

Neal glances up, shaking out of the haze. The absence of the drug has left him feeling empty and cold, and while he hasn't used in the days since his… indiscretion, he still feels it shaking him to his core. It's been a week, and he still feels it: empty, cold, and most of all, lost.

"Yeah. I'm here."

"Miller was at his vacation home in Providence when he was killed. This was someone close to him," Peter says.

"That still doesn't explain why our suspect killed the people at the bottom," Neal questions.

"Vengeance? Against the whole family? Kill at the top, remove any opportunity to make any more money at the bottom?" Diana offers.

"Yeah, maybe this isn't about money at all. Maybe this is completely personal," says Jones. A figure appears in the doorway, Hughes, giving Peter the double finger point.

Peter nods, then motions to Neal. "Outside."

Neal swallows, following him. He shoves his hands into his pockets, trying to maintain nonchalant. "What's up?"

"Drug test, Neal. Now," Hughes says, his voice stern.

Neal swallows again. Heroin stays in the system a few days. Not a week. Unless they pluck his hair out, then he's royally screwed. "Not a problem."

They lead him to a private room on a lower floor. A technician hands him a cup.

He swallows again. He goes into the room, taking care of business.

When he's done, he exits, making haste in his anxiety, nearly slamming into Peter as he swings open the door.

"Hey, hey, where's the fire?" Peter says.

Neal's quiet. "I'm sorry, it's just… Just anxious. Really."

Peter studies Neal for a moment, who shifts in his discomfort. "Neal. I know what you did."

Neal stares Peter down. "What did I do?"

Peter shakes away Neal's attempt to distract him. "I also know it's been long enough that it won't show up on the test."

Neal swallows, then realizes what's happening. "You dictate when the drug tests are."

Peter leans in, his voice rough. "This cannot, and I will repeat this, can NOT, happen again. I understand. You slipped, you fell. It's done. You're done with this shit, and I don't ever want to find out that you've done it again. You are better than this, Neal. You are goddamn better than this and I will not stand by and watch this take you again. Not again." He scoffs. "You're my kid, you know? I can't… I won't. There won't be this forgiveness next time. I won't hesitate to put you away. I hope you know that."

Neal looks down. His voice is quiet, barely a murmur. "I know that. Thank you."

"Don't thank me." Hesitation. "Just don't let me down again." Neal nods, his head still down. "Don't let me down, kid."

"I won't. I swear I won't. It was just the one time. I swear to you, Peter."

In truth, Neal had gone out every day since that last hit and purchased. But Peter knew that, because every time, Neal came home crying, the gear in his hands as he sunk to his knees at Peter's doorstep, tears unable to be contained as he cried to Peter, 'I can't do this. I can't do this.' Over and over, every night. Peter took the powder, took the gear, and disposed of it. El pulled Neal up from his knees, guiding his shaking figure to the sofa where she sat him down, hugged him tight, and whispered softly to him that everything would be okay.

And he made it through the night, with a little help from his friends.

The day after the drug test, Neal is sitting at his desk, flipping paper footballs over Socrates, and quietly cheering to himself whenever he clears the statue's head.

"You plan on getting some work done today?" Peter suddenly asks, having appeared in front of Neal from out of nowhere. Neal glances up.

"What can I do?"

"You can start by getting your ass to the boardroom. But Hughes wants to see you first. Alone."

Neal looks down, nodding as he pushes himself up. He rolls up his sleeves, wincing as he sees the scars, and saunters up to Hughes' office.

Hughes looks up when Neal enters the room. "Neal. Good to see you."

"It's been about an hour, sir, but good to see you, too."

Hughes ignores Neal's quip, looking over paperwork. "Drug test came back."

"And what's the verdict?"

"Clean." He studies Neal for a moment, then adds: "As it should be."

Neal nods, grinning. "As it should be."

Hughes hesitates a moment, then shoves the paper into a file, marked with Neal's name. "We're proud of you, Caffrey. You've shown incredible strength. I understand why Burke keeps you around."

Neal smiles. "Just doing my job, sir."

"Keep doing it, you'll do just fine."

"Thank you, sir."

Hughes studies Neal for a moment, and Neal could swear he catches a glimmer of a smile in Hughes' eyes, but it's gone in a flash. "Now, get back to work."

"Yes, sir."

Neal turns, and saunters back to the boardroom. They're all staring at him. "What?"

"Neal, there's a man in the lobby who would like to see you. Says his name is Karl."

Neal's breath catches in his throat. "Karl. Did he say why he was here?"

"He did not. Do you need back-up?" Peter asks.

Neal shakes his head, pushing himself up out of his seat, that he had just taken. "No, no. I'll be fine. Thank you."

He exits, tapping his foot the whole way down the elevator, anxious. He stops when the elevator door opens and he sees Karl in the lobby, looking worse for wear.

"Karl," he can barely catch his breath. The strong man looks so beaten down, worn.

The man turns. "Neal."

"How can I help you, Karl?"

Karl smiles, it's almost a brief laugh. "You're free."

"Yeah, man. I'm free."

"Sober?"

"Clean and sober."

Karl does laugh. "That's… that's great, man. That's great. Good for you."

Neal studies Karl, the way he keeps shrugging his shoulders, scratching at his arms. "You're not," Neal says, with caution.

"Naw, man, not me. No way. I been in this shit for too goddamn long."

"There's help. There's a way out. Valentino is behind bars, you can kick this. You can get better."

"Without him, I'm nothing. I don't have a place to stay. I don't have a job. I don't have dope. I don't have anything. I need you to get him out."

Neal steps back, throwing his hands up in defense. "Whoa, whoa. The man who locked me up, that's who we're talking about here. He's serving his time."

Karl extends his arms, the sight of the pock-marked and scarred flesh making Neal sick to his stomach. "I need this, man. I need him back. He left a lot of lives behind."

"I'm afraid I can't do that. But we can get you help. We can get you into a program, even the one I went to, man. We can fix this."

"You went to rehab."

"28 days."

"And you did it."

"Clean as a whistle."

Karl stands for a moment, looking down. "That's… that's great, man." Neal nods. He glances over as the elevator dings, and sees Peter standing in the spot as the door slides open. Slowly, cautiously, he shakes his head. He can't let Karl go down for this. After all this man did for him. Peter nods once, turning as he exists and disappearing down a corridor. Neal looks back to Karl, who is scratching at his scarred arm.

"We can fix this," Neal repeats, careful, lifting one hand, as though not only his words will prove his promise, but the gentle lift of a hand. It's his word.

"I don't know what to do, Neal."

"We can help you. Let us help you."

"It's not… I'm not worth it."

"Don't say that. You-"

"I'm nothing, man-"

"You saved my life. Please." Karl looks out the door, studying something Neal can't see. Neal repeats his plea. "Please let me do the same for you."

The elevator dings again, and he glances over to see Agent Wesley exit, casually turning a corner to go about his business. But when Neal looks back to continue his argument, in efforts to save this man's life, Karl is gone. Neal runs to the door, glancing left and right, but the man has disappeared into the streets.

"Damnit!" Neal almost shouts, throwing up his hands. Peter emerges from the corridor.

"What the hell was that?"

"Just… a friend. Did a lot for me, when I was a prisoner." He pauses. "I just wanted to help him."

"He in your situation?"

"Sort of. Yeah. He is."

"And now he's gone."

Neal looks back out the big glass windows of the Bureau, scanning the people milling about. None of them are Karl. "Yeah. He's gone."

That night, Neal didn't go out. He didn't buy. He didn't show up at Peter's doorstep, voice hoarse as he whispered his plea for a return to sanity, something he had long ago lost.

He stayed with them, and they went on walks together. Neal, Peter, El, and Satchmo, together, protecting him. On several occasions, Satchmo would bark at people who passed by Neal, quickly jumping in front of Neal and protecting him.

Neal just laughed. And every day got a little bit better.