"Neal, can you tell us why you're here?"

Neal stared at the woman across from him, then glanced around at the others in the circle. He swallowed hard, lowering his eyes to the floor. "My boyfriend thought this would help," he muttered. He knew that wasn't the answer she was looking for, but he couldn't find it in him to care. He didn't want to be in a group therapy session, but he also hadn't been opening up to Peter, so he understood why Peter asked him to do this. "I was raped."

The woman, Sara, nodded. He couldn't look at any of them and he really didn't want to. A lot of the people in the circle were women. He felt so uncomfortable, especially because he knew the stereotypical belief that men weren't raped because they could defend themselves. "How old were you when it happened?" she asked gently.

He exasperatedly said, "Thirteen and thirty-three."

He regretted looking up the instant he did it. Three women that he saw immediately looked at him—pitied him. "I was raped when I was sixteen," a young woman spoke up, giving Neal a kind smile. "Do you still have nightmares?" He nodded slowly. She looked too sweet for his comfort and he wondered why she wanted to buddy up with him. "I'm Rebecca—Rebecca Lowe."

He didn't respond, so Sara continued on with the rest of the circle, allowing open discussions about particular traumatic experiences each person experienced. The two other men in the room were here because they'd abused their girlfriends, which made Neal feel even more inadequate. They were real men—bastards for hurting their partners, but real men nonetheless. Neal could imagine Peter beating him, though he knew Peter would never do that, but he could never see himself doing that to anyone he'd ever been with. He didn't want to think about hurting Peter. He'd done that enough emotionally already.

When the hour was up, everyone grabbed their jackets and started heading out. He tried to make a quick escape, knowing Peter would be out there waiting for him, but a gentle hand gripped his shoulder. He spun to see Rebecca. "What?" he asked, sounding annoyed.

Her smile faltered for a split second. "I thought we might talk for a few minutes, if that's okay with you."

He really didn't want to. "My boyfriend—"

"—wouldn't mind waiting." He turned again to look up at Peter. "Hey, sweetheart," he said quietly, pecking Neal's lips gently. Neal thought about pleading with Peter, begging him to take them home, but he was so tired of being that. "Who's your friend?"

Neal was silent, so she introduced herself, extending a hand towards Peter. "I'm Rebecca Lowe."

Peter smiled at her. "Peter Burke. Pleasure to meet you, Miss Lowe."

She grinned at him and Neal bristled at the sight of Peter returning that expression. He didn't want to be here and he didn't want Peter assuming he made a friend—or making friends with said assumptive-friends. "Neal was pretty brave for his first day," she commented. "I told him I was sixteen when the same thing happened to me."

Peter nodded. He watched Neal, wondering why Neal didn't want to befriend this woman. They could relate in ways that he and Neal couldn't. Peter hadn't been raped or beaten by someone close to him, so he didn't know how it felt. He didn't know how to help Neal through his struggle, so perhaps this Rebecca could do for Neal what he couldn't. "I highly doubt it was the same thing," Neal said under his breath. Peter was the only one who caught that, fortunately.

He thought about sighing, but he knew Neal was already irritated enough. "How about we all go out for lunch?"

"I want to go home," Neal said.

Rebecca shook her head. "Maybe another time," she suggested. "See you next week, Neal?"

He barely gave her a nod in response. She frowned, readjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder before walking past the two men. Peter waited to see if Neal would speak first. When he brushed past Peter, Peter tugged on his shoulder. "Hon, what's wrong?"

Neal shrugged him off, putting his hands in his jacket pockets. He walked down the hallway, Peter trailing him, and out of the building. He stood by the passenger door, waiting for Peter to unlock the car. As soon as he did, Neal pulled the door open and slid in, pulling his seatbelt on quickly. Peter watched him in silence. "I don't want to do this again," Neal said angrily. "I don't like talking about it with strangers. I barely want to discuss it at home, so I don't know why you thought this would help."

"Hon, listen to me, okay? I didn't force you to do this. I asked if you'd be willing to try and you said yes." He tried to take Neal's hand in his, but Neal moved his hand to rest on his own lap. "I only asked because I'm worried about you. I can't help you, so I thought this might because then you'll be able to talk to others who dealt with the same thing. Neal, I think you should try to befriend Rebecca. You were kind of cold when she—"

"I really don't want to talk about this," Neal said firmly. He glanced at Peter, receiving a questioning look. "Peter, I'm the only guy who got raped in that room. She's a woman. It's more common." Peter didn't respond. "Do you know how they looked at me in there when I admitted to the rape?" When Peter still didn't answer, he continued. "They pity me. You know how much I fucking hate pity. They're all just a bunch of overly emotional women who—"

"—and what does that make you?" Peter bit out. Neal stopped talking, staring at the dashboard. He hadn't expected Peter to snap at him. "Don't be so judgmental, Neal. These people may not have suffered as intensely as you did, but their pain is the equivalent of yours to them. If one of them had been beaten by their father or another relative, they might think it's as bad as how you feel about being raped."

Neal didn't think of it like that. He saw himself as being surrounded by people who weren't able to defend themselves and felt like he should've been able to do something to prevent his own problems because he's supposed to be able to protect himself. "Until you get raped, I don't want you to tell me that their problems are as bad as mine," he hissed. Peter's eyes widened, a flash of hurt crossing his expression. He knew Neal didn't mean that, but it still hurt. He blinked back a few tears before starting up the car. He didn't want to ignore Neal, but he also felt that he didn't deserve to get chewed out for trying to help Neal either. He backed out of the parking space and turned the car to start heading home. They drove for several minutes in silence. Neal stared out of his window with his arms crossed over his chest. When they stopped at a red light, Neal's arms uncrossed and he sighed, resting his head against the headrest of his seat. "I'm sorry. What I said was uncalled for. You didn't deserve that."

Peter shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I know you don't mean it. I'm not mad." Neal frowned, briefly looking at Peter before focusing on the road as snow came down on it. He wanted to ask Peter a million questions, but didn't feel like he had the right to question Peter after saying what he did. "Do you want to tell me what you're thinking about?" Peter asked as he drove off from the light.

"Why are you still with me?" he blurted out. Peter's brows furrowed. "I want to know why you stay when I make you so miserable. I complicate your life, Peter."

"What makes you think I'm miserable? And how do you believe you complicate my life?"

Neal frowned again. He knew Peter was doing some sort of reverse psychology on him and it pissed him off a little, but he wanted to have this discussion. "We haven't had sex in three weeks. The last time we did was the night before your parents left and you barely wanted to do it."

Peter reached over, resting his hand on Neal's shoulder. "It wasn't that I didn't want to do it," he reassured him. "Neal, I was afraid that I'd scare you."

"And that's how I complicate things," he muttered. "You shouldn't have to think about scaring me when we're fucking. That's not fair to you."

Peter sighed. "I don't care about the fairness of it. The reality of it is that you're afraid of sex. I make love to you, Neal, but that doesn't mean I can't scare you just as easily." He slid his hand down Neal's arm until he was able to hold Neal's hand. "I love you. Making you cry before I've even started isn't exactly part of the lovemaking agenda."

Neal thought about pulling his hand out of Peter's for a moment, but banished that urge immediately. "When we get home, can we try again?"

"No." Neal's heart hurt. Peter was too damn smart for that and Neal knew it. "We aren't doing anything sexual until you're all right. I'm not saying one hundred percent fine. I want you to feel comfortable. I don't want you to cry when I touch you or scream when I'm just about to slip into you."

"I won't do that anymore." Peter looked at him and Neal ducked his head. "Fine," he said petulantly. "We'll play it your way." Peter squeezed his hand and Neal considered pulling away again, but he knew Peter was doing this for his own good. Peter did everything he could to make Neal feel better and it didn't seem like Neal was budging at all sometimes.

Peter glanced over at Neal for a moment. "Are you going to go back next week?"

Neal shrugged. "I don't know. We'll see." Peter nodded, taking that as enough of an answer. He figured it was all he'd get out of Neal at this point. The remainder of the ride home was quiet.

As soon as they got into the apartment, Neal took his jacket and boots off almost immediately, followed by his pants and crawled into bed. Peter sighed, taking his boots and jacket off. He didn't immediately get into bed with Neal. He wandered over to the kitchen and started to make himself some hot chocolate. He made enough for two in case Neal wanted some. He heard the bed creak and Neal pad across the room. When Neal was behind Peter, his arms circled around the older man and he pressed the side of his face against Peter's back. Peter rested one hand on Neal's arms while he stirred with the other. "You okay, hon?"

"No," he muttered. "I'm mad at myself."

"Why?"

Neal kissed Peter's back before pressing the side of his face against him again. "Because I realize I haven't been fair or nice to you in a while," he whispered. "I'm really sorry for all of the cruel things I've been saying. I don't know why I say them because I know you're trying to help."

Peter turned in Neal's arms, keeping them around him. "You know I love you regardless of how you talk to me," Peter assured him. "Unless you start calling me your bitch or other derogatory names, I'm fine."

"I've been an asshole, but I wouldn't do that to you," Neal said quietly. "None of those words apply to you. They certainly apply to—"

"Don't do that," Peter warned. "You know I hate when you put yourself down, sweetheart." He kissed Neal's forehead. "You're not a whore or a slut or a bitch, Neal. Stop thinking you are, okay?" Neal frowned, lowering his eyes to Peter's chest. "You're my wonderful man, the partner I wouldn't trade for any other man in the universe. Nobody could be you."

"Nobody would be stupid enough to get raped twice in—" Peter shrugged himself out of Neal's arms and turned away from him. He wasn't angry, but he was admittedly upset with Neal. "Peter, I'm sorry."

He kept his back to Neal. "Are you really or do you just not want me to ignore you?"

Neal frowned, staring at Peter's back. "I really am sorry. I'm so—" He cut himself off. "I can't control what I say sometimes, which is a sad excuse, but I'm not thinking right anymore."

Peter turned, holding two mugs of hot chocolate. "Want one?" Neal nodded slowly and Peter gave him the blue mug. They stood face to face for a few minutes, sipping their hot chocolate before Peter spoke again. "I can't stand to hear you degrade yourself, honey," he whispered. "You're inflicting pain on yourself by saying those things, but you're also hurting me. I love you as you are and none of what happened changes that."

"Thank you, Peter," Neal said quietly, staring into Peter's eyes. "You mean a lot to me—like a lot. I'd probably wither away without you here. I want you to know that I appreciate all of what you've done for me." Peter gave him a small smile. "I should know I'm lucky to have you. You love me unconditionally, which is beyond me sometimes, but you love me nonetheless."

Peter shifted his mug in his hands, reaching up with his left to stroke Neal's cheek, the warmth of his hand making Neal close his eyes, his lips parting as he nuzzled his face against Peter's palm. "I'll always love you this way. I don't want to get out of this relationship. I've told you repeatedly that you aren't weak. I've seen you at work and with Nicky. You can be a real badass when you want to be." Neal laughed, opening his eyes. "You're a strong man. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here having this conversation with me."

Neal nodded, understanding how sincerely Peter meant that. "I love you," he whispered. He tilted his face up towards Peter, hoping Peter would see what he wanted.

Fortunately, he did. Peter leaned forward to kiss Neal, whispering, "I love you," against his lips. "So much more than you'd ever believe I'm capable of."

Neal sighed, resting his forehead against Peter's. "I know you're capable of so much," Neal admitted. "I see it every time you look at me. There's never a moment when that love is completely gone and that's a…relief."

The older man sighed, pecking Neal's lips again. "Then listen to me when I tell you that I love you and I want to help, okay?"

He nodded, looking into Peter's eyes. Peter shifted them to pull Neal into a tight hug. Neal rested his head on Peter's shoulder, closing his eyes to listen to the breathing of his lover. "I'm trying to listen," he whispered. "It'll take time…"

"I know. And I'll be right here through it all."

•◊•

Neal dropped a folder onto Peter's desk, staring levelly at his boss and lover. "When am I going to get actual field work again?"

Peter looked up from what he was doing on the computer and sighed. "When I think you'll be able to handle it," Peter said gently. "Right now, we're on desk duty, okay?"

That wasn't good enough for him. "You still get fielded when I'm not around."

"Because I—" He stopped and stared at Neal, his own eyes widened when he saw the realization dawn on Neal's face. "Honey, don't jump to conclu—"

He laughed and turned to walk away. "You know what? Fine. Do your job and I'll do mine. I'm just a probie." He stood in the doorway for a moment before leaving, heading down into the bullpen to sit at his desk. Peter sighed, palming his face in his hand.

Diana came in and Peter almost asked her to leave. "Everything all right, boss? Caffrey didn't look happy."

"He's pissed at me," Peter said with a sigh. "He doesn't want me restricting him at work and now he thinks I believe he's incapable of working in the field again, which isn't true."

She raised an eyebrow. "He's been getting better, Peter. I think—"

He shook his head. "Neal doesn't know where he stands on the good and bad scale. He's been closed up for a while now. I have him doing group therapy, which doesn't thrill him either." He looked beyond Diana to watch Neal, seeing the pent up frustration and aggravation. "He has less than a month to go before he's a Special Agent, Diana."

"What are you thinking?"

"He's been solving these files for several months now to absolute perfection. It's so perfect that I'm shocked. He's a brilliant man underneath all of that pain." Diana frowned and then Peter focused on her. "I want to put him back in the field. Next month, I'll have to unless I provide a reasonable excuse to have him kept out longer, which will probably make him hate me."

"Have you talked to Hughes?"

He nodded, sighing. "He thinks I should give Neal another chance. If things don't go well, I can have him on deskwork again. I'm worried about him, Diana."

She gave him a small smile. "You wouldn't be Peter Burke if you didn't worry about him." He nodded slowly, looking at his hands. "But there's something else bothering you and I can tell by the look on your face that it isn't work related."

"You are too damn good at that," he muttered, "but you're right. Di, I'm gonna propose to him soon and, in light of recent events, I honestly don't know if he'll say yes."

Her eyes softened and she took a seat in front of the desk. "You know that he loves you underneath all of his anger and sorrow, boss. Why do you think he's doing the group therapy? He wants to make you happy—proud of him, even."

He cocked an eyebrow. "You already knew about his therapy." It wasn't a question. "Diana, did he tell you he wants me to be proud of him?"

"Kinda." He looked out into the bullpen and frowned when he saw Neal scribbling across a paper at warpspeed, doing the job Peter demanded he do. "He's kept quiet about all the deskwork because he doesn't want to disappoint you or make you think he can't handle even that."

"He's been talking to you?"

He couldn't stop himself from sounding accusatory. "No," she said softly. "He has a journal."

Peter's eyes flickered back up to Diana's face. "A journal? And you're stalking him?"

She rolled her eyes. "Boss, you need to see it, I think. His… You just need to see it."

The two of them went about their business until lunch time. He left his office and headed into the bullpen, stopping beside Neal's desk. Neal didn't look up at him and that bothered Peter. "Do you want to eat lunch with me?"

"I'll eat with the other probies, boss." Peter cringed. Neal closed another folder and added it to the pile he'd already finished, which was impressive. He went to work thoroughly reading the new file until he realized Peter was still standing there. "You can go eat, but you don't need my permission," he muttered, looking back at his file.

Peter closed his eyes for a moment. He really needed to work this out with Neal. They couldn't let this affect their relationship, but Neal didn't really want to be considered a subordinate in general when it came to Peter. "I love you," Peter whispered, turning to head to the elevator.

He waited for the elevator and actually hoped Neal would change his mind. He tried not to be disappointed or upset by the fact that Neal hadn't said he loved Peter, too, but it was bothering him. Moments after he stepped into the elevator, Neal's arm stopped the doors from closing. Peter looked at him, confused. The younger man bit his lip, but stepped forward to kiss Peter. "I didn't want you to leave without that," he whispered as he backed off. "I love you, Peter."

Neal stood outside of the elevator, frowning until Peter tried to get him to smile with one of his own. Neal's heart fluttered when Peter smiled like that at him and he couldn't resist returning it, even if a minimal amount of effort had been put into it in that moment.

Peter ate his lunch alone, thinking about what he was going to do. He didn't want them to drift apart, though the kiss in the elevator was enlightening. It still worried him that Neal would think Peter was trying to dominate him in the workplace. That was the furthest thing from Peter's mind, but Neal might see it that way and transfer it to their home life. Peter didn't want Neal submitting at work or at home. They both had a responsibility at work and Peter had to put their jobs before their relationship, but make their relationship still matter regardless.

When he went back into the building, he passed by Neal's desk, expecting to see him there with another file. He was surprised that Neal wasn't there. He left a note on the desk though. 'Back soon. Eating lunch with Diana. Love you. N.'

As much as he didn't want to do it, he took the opportunity to go through Neal's desk area in search of the journal Diana mentioned. He ended up finding it on top of the desk under a bunch of Neal's paperwork. He glanced around and snuck it into his suit jacket, heading back up to his office. When he was in the office again, he laid the journal down on the desk and debated on whether or not this was invading Neal's privacy. He loves Neal, but does that give him the right to look through Neal's things?

Unfortunately, he decided it did. He opened the journal and his jaw dropped. Neal's thoughts were darker than he realized. 'Peter's disappointed with me.' That was just the beginning and this was dated last week. 'I don't know how to tell him I'm okay without telling myself I'm lying to him. I can feel them. Craig's hands around my throat, Adler's hand in my mouth, their dicks inside of me. I can't get those feelings to go away and they hurt. I can feel the pain as if they were just inside of me. I feel it before Peter has the chance to make love with me. I wish I were dead just to spare him of this petty bullshit.' Peter's eyes started watering. He knew Neal still felt and saw things that weren't real, but he hadn't realized it was this bad. 'I want to tell him he can be rough with me, but he's right. I'm too scared. When we try, I just want to flip over onto my hands and knees and let him do whatever he wants so I don't have to look at him. That only makes my heart hurt more. It makes me feel dead inside to know that I can't even enjoy my husband-to-be.' He was stunned by the last phrase, but kept reading. 'I feel like he's just waiting for me to break and it's scary. If he puts me into a confinement cell again, I think I will kill myself—successfully. I love him to death and I want to be able to lay down beneath him and laugh when he thinks the way our bodies slip and slide against each other is silly. I need to be able to—'

"What the hell are you doing?" Peter startled and looked up to see pure betrayal and pain in Neal's eyes. Peter closed the journal and stood up, trying to defend himself. "God damn it, Peter!" He wouldn't let Peter answer him. "Just keep the damn thing. My immediate feelings don't mean a damn thing after all." He turned on his heels and went straight for his jacket behind his desk.

Peter chased after him. "Neal, wait! Listen to—"

"No," Neal growled as he whirled on Peter. "I'm going home. Whether you come home tonight or not isn't my concern." Peter tried to reach out for him, but Neal backed away. His eyes were pleading with Neal, but Neal was furious. "Have a nice day, Agent Burke," he said before getting into the elevator and jamming the 'close door' button until it did close.

Peter just stood there, dumbfounded. How did things go to hell so quickly?