*Please be advised that this chapter has disturbing and potentially triggering content*

Chapter Twenty Seven

The word, coupled with the expression on Neal's face, hit Peter like a blow. "You said..." Neal panted desperately. "...If I was... freaking out... about to do something stupid..." He didn't finish but he didn't need to. Peter understood; he knew what he'd said.

If you feel yourself freaking out, talk to me; let me help. Don't go off and do something stupid...

And Neal had listened. Judging by the folder Neal had shoved at him and the small duffle clenched in his hand Peter could guess what kind of stupid thing Neal had been contemplating; He wanted to run. But Why now? He felt their talk in the wee Sunday morning hours had set Neal on more solid ground. Of course, the timing of his decision-again in the early morning hours just before dawn told him the nightmare had spurred his irrational action.

"Yeah, Neal," Peter replied. "I told you to come to me, to let me help. Come out of the rain." Again, he stepped to the side, opening a path to the door but Neal didn't move.

"I don't..." Neal began, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession like an animal about to bolt. "I don't know what..." His usual gift of articulation had deserted him. "how..." He shook his head in desperation. "I don't know what to do."

He was clearly out of sorts and though he had come this far, something had stopped him before he reached the door. If Satchmo hadn't sensed his presence, or worse yet if he had buried his head under the pillow and not came down, would Neal have covered those last few steps to the door? Would he have knocked or would he have turned and walked away? Out of his life possibly forever?

Sensing he was still embroiled in whatever internal tug of war had left him standing in the rain, Peter reached out and clasp him firmly on the shoulder. It was part to comfort and part to make sure he didn't have second thoughts.

"It's okay," he said gently, pulling him forward and forcing him to take the final step onto the porch and out of the rain. "We can figure it out together Come in and we can talk it through." Neal was shaking violently beneath his hand. He was dripping wet and it was cool out but instinct told Peter his trembling wasn't just a response to the environment. He'd seen this before, in the aftermath of his nightmare. When Neal made no move toward the door, Peter used his grip on his shoulder to guide him through it. Keeping his hand in place, he used the other to close the door.

He heard a sound behind him and looked to see Elizabeth standing on the stairs.

"He's soaked, El," he told her. "Grab him a towel. And bring a blanket, too." Without a question or delay, Elizabeth disappeared back up the stairs. Peter took the bag from Neal's hand and sat it on the floor by the door. It was a small bag, similar to the one he took to the gym. If this was all Neal had packed he certainly believed in traveling light.

"Mary," Neal gasped out, stepping from one foot to the other as if he couldn't be still. "She was...in my...dream." Peter felt the weight of dread at his words. Mary had cared for Neal after his attack. She wasn't part of his dream; she was part of his memory. "She'd never...been before. That is when it...started changing." Neal was still shaking like a leaf, his eyes wide in panic. "She-" he waved his hand in front of his face. "...she put something ...on my face..." he continued haltingly. "I couldn't breathe. She...she said she'd make it all go away. "

Peter saw Elizabeth descending with the requested items, her face stamped with apprehension about what was to come. He knew her expression was mirrored in his own but Neal was too far gone to notice their concern. Peter released his grip to take the towel she handed him.

"It's okay, Neal," he breathed gently, using the towel to dry his face and at least soak up some of the water in his hair. "Take off your jacket," he directed as he tossed the towel. "Let's get you dried off and warmed up."

Neal, shifting restlessly from foot to foot and clenching and unclenching his fists almost compulsively was unable to process the request and continued his disjointed discourse. "She was...there," the words were torn from him. "She said... it was just... a bad dream. But it wasn't."

Elizabeth reached up and draped the blanket she'd brought down across his shaking shoulders. Her eyes locked with his. "I'm upstairs if you need me," she said quietly. He gave a nod of acknowledgment and she again ascended the stairs leaving him alone with Neal.

"It wasn't," Neal said again, eyes filled with horror. "Oh my God, Peter," his voice shook. "It wasn't a dream." His eyes darted around the room as if looking for danger or maybe just a route of escape. "It... it wasn't a dream." He repeated, his voice rising as his panic grew. "It happened."

Dealing with the nightmare had been bad but the realization that it was something that had actually happened was another thing altogether. He couldn't imagine what knowing the truth was doing to Neal but he could see the effect it was having on him: this was a life-changing, earth-shaking moment in his life. He'd known this time was coming but he'd hoped when it did Neal would be in counseling with someone who knew how to help him navigate it. Instead, he was stuck with him. He felt woefully inadequate. Just like he had at the hospital in Sloatsburg when Neal had been such an emotional wreck because of his trauma and the ketamine he'd been dosed with. When he'd told Elizabeth he didn't know what to do or how to help, she'd said Just be there for him. Well, it might be all he could do but he could do that. He placed both hands on Neal's shoulders.

"Look at me, Neal." In spite of the blanket around him, Neal was still shaking violently and Peter was sure it had more to do with his mental state than his physical one. "Neal."

Again, Neal seemed unable to comply. His eyes still flitted about the room as if expecting an attack and he was practically bouncing in his canvas shoes.

"He...sent him..." his face contorted, "them...to...to punish me." Peter's chest tightened: Them? "For questioning him. For not knowing my role...I didn't want...to do the papers for...for the kids anymore." The kids being bought and sold in the trafficking ring. Just because no one wants them doesn't mean they don't matter. "He'd threatened...to sell me to...Douchant but...I ...I thought the beating...was it. I didn't...expect..." Wild, desperate blue eyes found his. "He knows...what they did..." Both his restless fidgeting and already accelerated breathing ticked up a notch. "I can't," he said, his voice rising in desperation. "I can't...testify...I can't...see him."

Peter now understood Neal's urge to run. As far as Neal knew, the only person in that courtroom who knew what had happened to him was Eden. And facing him, knowing that, was more than Neal could take right now. Hoping to pull him from the edge of hysteria and hyperventilation, he gave his shoulders a firm squeeze.

"Breath, Neal," he encouraged. "Just breathe. We can work through all of this," he said firmly, his eyes locked onto Neal's. "I promise. You did right coming here."

One heart-wrenching sob broke from Neal's throat and then the tears came. As the despair rose in his eyes and poured down his flushed cheeks, Neal wrapped his arms around himself just as he had two nights before in the guest room.

"It's okay," Peter placated, knowing things were far, far from okay. He put an arm around Neal's waist and lead him to the sofa. When Peter suggested he sit, Neal did so but as soon as he did, he began to rock out and back; self-soothing the way he probably had all his life. But just like he'd told him time and time again, he wasn't alone anymore. Knowing what Neal needed, Peter moved closer and pulled him into a hug. Neal didn't resist but immediately grabbed Peter's shirt front and buried his face in his chest. The sound of his anguish echoed through the room for several moments before Neal spoke.

"I tried to... get away." The words were interrupted by sobs and muffled both by tears and his chest but Peter could still make them out. "But I.. couldn't." Peter clenched his jaw as rage soared through him. "I tried to... fight but I wasn't...strong enough." This was that young, open version of Neal he'd met the first time at the Howser Clinic, then again after the kidnapping. This was Danny. "They...hurt me. They...laughed...at...me." Peter's stomach turned at the image Neal was painting in his mind but whatever Neal needed to say, he was there to listen. So that's what he did. He listened and stroked the dark, still wet head as Neal brokenly spoke about feeling helpless, humiliated, and ashamed. Peter knew sexual assaults were not about sex but about power and Neal's halting and at times incoherent utterances illustrated that in painful clarity. Several times, tears choked out Neal's words and when it happened, Peter waited, rubbing his back or his head so he'd know he wasn't alone as years of pain and shame poured out of him. Peter heard his alarm go off upstairs but it had quickly been silenced. A moment later, Elizabeth appeared on the stairs, holding his work phone and mouthed. I will call Reece. It was a good move; neither he nor Neal would be making an appearance at the office today.

The sun was already beginning to stream in the windows when Neal began to quieten. He'd hung on to him and cried for hours but finally, Peter felt the death grip on his shirt loosen. Whether it was because he was calming or just that he was exhausted, Peter didn't know. Neal turned his head to the side but didn't pull away; he wasn't ready to break contact and in spite of his stiffness, neither was Peter. As difficult as this had been he knew this was the easy part. All Neal needed was a safe place to purge the repressed feelings and emotions he'd been stuffing. He needed to clean out the garbage that had been dumped in his head and his heart so long ago by evil men. He needed to let out his hurt and fears, to have someone listen and understand the damage that had been done to his soul that terrible night. Just like he had at the hospital months before, he'd reached out for the physical contact he needed to help him weather the storm. But once the storm began to subside, after Neal had not more tears left to cry, the real work would begin. They would have to come up with a way to help Neal face his life, and maybe even Terrance Eden, after this revelation.

"Part of me disappeared that night." Came quiet words from the dark head beneath Peter's chin. He'd been so still and quiet Peter had begun to think he might have passed out. "The part that thought good would win out. The part that loved," Neal mumbled, his voice growing faint. "That hoped." He felt Neal let out a sigh. "No matter how much I want it, I can't get that back."

Neal's position shifted slightly and Peter felt the weight of his body increase as unconsciousness took over. Even if the sudden lump in his throat had allowed him to respond, Neal wouldn't have been awake to hear.

It wasn't true, Peter thought as his hold on Neal tightened. Neal not only still believed good could win but he actively made sure it did whenever he could. What about when the Book of Hours, instead of being logged in as evidence, miraculously found its way back to the church in time to restore the hope of a homeless man? And then there was the stolen Haustenburg. Peter didn't know how Neal had pulled it off and since it was probably illegal he didn't want to know, but the glint of satisfaction in his eyes at the end of that case told Peter a wrong had been righted. And though it was hard to believe he'd managed it on such short notice, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that Neal was responsible for the Latham family's sudden change in circumstances.

And Neal still loved and he loved fiercely; just the lengths he'd gone to for Kate proved that. He wouldn't likely admit it but he loved Mozzie, too. And June. It was his love for her that sent him into the Howser Clinic where he'd ended up drugged and strapped to a bed.

And singing. Peter found a smile at the memory. Even though Neal didn't remember it, that had been a pivotal point in their relationship. Not his off-key singing but the proclamation of trust he'd made after. Trust wasn't something Neal gave easily and Peter, now more than ever understood why. But regardless of what Neal thought, he did believe good could triumph, he did love and in spite of everything that had happened to him, he still had hope. It was hope that brought him to the Burke house. Hope that he had another choice. That he didn't have to run. That he didn't have to face this on his own. That he could ask for help and someone would listen. That was big, that he'd asked for help. Peter knew how hard it was for him. Neal had asked before, begged before, and his cries had fallen on deaf ears.

He'd told him the Howser Clinic he was the only person in his life he trusted and this morning before dawn, he'd proven it.

Neal's breathing had become deep and steady, his head had dipped forward. After crying for hours, he was down for the count. Peter eased the damp blanket from Neal's shoulders, lowered his head to one of the sofa's square pillows, and raised his legs. A minute later, he placed a heavier blanket from the hall closet over his sleeping CI. Neal's still bruised face was splotchy from crying, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. He looked so vulnerable lying there, Peter again felt a lump rise in his throat but he swallowed it down. He had to get a grip on his own emotions, to make sure he had his thoughts in order before Neal woke up. That would be hard for both of them but the best way to minimize the awkwardness was to move into the planning stage. If Neal didn't think he could testify, then Peter had to get him into a doctor ASAP. The trial was less than a week away so there was no time to lose. After an evaluation, a doctor could determine it would be detrimental to him to testify. With a letter stating such, the courts could not force him to do so. That was the first step; to find out what Neal wanted to do.

He could hear Elizabeth moving around upstairs so he went to the kitchen to start the coffee. Did she have an early morning? He couldn't remember. Once the coffee was on, he returned to the living room to retrieve the bag Neal had brought. With it in hand, he glanced at the still-sealed envelope on the side table. Neal had run but something had made him change course. Something had brought him here instead of to places unknown.

He glanced at the very still Neal on the sofa and slowly, quietly, unzipped the bag. What did Neal Caffrey pack when he was in the wind?

A pair of kaikis. A white tee shirt. A blue striped button-down shirt. A pair of jogging pants. A pair of socks and a pair of brown shoes. Not a single thin tie was included. Peter unzipped the side pocket and pulled out a phone. Not the FBI-issued one, but a small, nondescript black one. A burner phone. Again he glanced toward his sleeping guest before flipping it open. Six missed calls. He frowned; someone had been expecting him somewhere else. No doubt Mozzie. He was probably worried sick.

After only a moment's hesitation, he hit the redial button.

"Where the hell are you?" Was the greeting he received. Definitely Mozzie. "Do you know how much it costs to get a helicopter to land in Manhatten?"

"Mozzie."

Peter could practically feel the shock at the other end. He half expected him to hang up but he didn't.

"Suit."

"He's here, Mozzie. He's safe."

"Safely under arrest?" he asked, his voice tight. "Safely on his way back to prison?"

"Of course not," Peter snapped in irritation. "Safely asleep on my sofa. He showed up here early this morning." Instead, he assumed, of at a prearranged meeting with an illegally landed helicopter.

"He's in bad shape, Peter." He'd gone from Suit to Peter.

"I know."

"Take care of him."

"I will, Mozzie. I promise."

"Carry on, then." The line went dead.

He returned the phone to its place but removed the other items that shared its space. A comb. A toothbrush. Toothpaste. Deodorant. A bottle of Cologne. Of course; even in the middle of an emotional breakdown and on the run, Neal would want to smell nice. There was something else, something at the very bottom. He dug down and pulled it out.

It was a badge, a small plastic one. Peter's tenuous grip on his emotions slipped at the sight of it. Neal had dug out of a cereal box when he'd shown up at the Burke breakfast table to ask him for help. For June and her granddaughter.

You guys having breakfast?

Yeah, we're having breakfast. It's a crazy ritual I'm sort of fond of. You want to know why?

'Cause you love the free toys?

Because breakfast doesn't involve you.

It had been a cruel thing to say but at the time, he hadn't realized it. But back then, there was a lot he hadn't realized.

Of all the things he could have chosen to take with him, why had the badge made Neal's shortlist of things to pack when fleeing Federal Custody?

Another exchange replayed in his mind. An exchange that had taken place at the Hanger just moments before the plane carrying the love of Neal's life exploded.

You said goodbye to everyone but me. Why?

I don't know.

Yeah, you do. Tell me.

I don't know, Peter.

Why?

You know why.

Tell me.

'Cause you're the only one who could change my mind.

The tears Peter had been fighting for hours suddenly broke through. He sank down on the chair, badge clasped in his hand and let them come.