A/N 4 chapter Episode tag 5x04–Controlling Interests a.k.a Neal gets drugged twice, hugs a blue pillow, and falls asleep on Peter's couch.

I loved this episode but it's weird because they introduced several very interesting factors and plot points and then...just...drop them???

Okay so "Controlling Interests" is fascinating and sad because Neal's getting his head messed with by Summers—in two ways! First, he's truly taken aback and I think somewhat frightened by her "sociopathic" diagnosis (which is never touched on again) and second, she seems to literally psychologically manipulate him into a criminal relapse. And at the end of episode 4 he's ready to go back to the life and just steal things 'because they're there' and seems to have lost the conscience he's been learning from Peter. But the next few episodes are fun, all is well, and he seems as good as ever. Though he's still doing illegal things, it isn't 'because he can', it's because of Hagen and such, and then we see him fully convinced he can go straight. So, what the heck happened to fix everything?????? He was clearly startled and taken aback at being called sociopathic, he was clearly manipulated into 'giving into his impulses', and then he's just fine??? Sorry, no.

I feel like White Collar always struggles with showing the fallout of the events that happened and often tries to clean them up without really fixing them—brushes them under the rug so to speak. I had to do something about that.

Even though the 'criminal relapse' aspect is more focused on in the show, I thought that both aspects of Dr. Summers influence were interesting and though I know it's kind of a lot to deal with both the sociopath and relapse aspects in one fic, I kinda had to.

It was only after he had gotten home that Peter thought to wonder what else had happened during Dr. Summers session with Neal. During the overwhelming rush of trying to find out what Neal was dosed with and what he had told her about the operation, the fact that Mara Summers had made it her life's work to damagingly manipulate criminals had somehow slipped his mind. Until now.

Surely, Peter reassured himself nervously, she would have been too concerned with the FBI investigation to manipulate Neal into anything other than giving FBI info.

But what if she hadn't been?

She was dangerous, that much was certain. At this point Peter believed that Griffith really was innocent of intent to commit the crime and despite his original skepticism, Neal's numbers trick as well as the other psychological tricks Peter had seen him pull over the years had shown that psychological manipulation was an immensely powerful tool in the hands of a knowledgeable user. With the added influence of hypnosis or drugs it could easily be downright dangerous if it wasn't already.

Now that he thought about it, Peter was seriously kicking himself for letting Neal get within a mile of Dr. Summers.

"I'm a wall." Neal had said with entire confidence but despite his frankly frightening ability to con, deceive, and manipulate, Neal wasn't a wall—nowhere near. In actuality he was a surprisingly easy person to manipulate if someone knew which buttons to push. He wasn't easy to read but if someone could read him...if they found his weakness or pressed into his insecurities...the thought put Peter on edge.

The truth was, Neal relied on others to be his conscience. He didn't have much beyond the bare basics of one for himself. Peter found himself more than once thanking heaven that Neal had fallen in with Mozzie when he did and not some other criminal. As bad of an influence as Mozzie was, the man wasn't truly bad, just a lonely person who wanted to prove to a harsh world that it hadn't beaten him. Mozzie wished no real harm or malice toward anything except his vague ideas of 'The Man'. Kate could have been truly dangerous to him but Peter suspected that her goals had never been criminal focused in the first place and simply used utterly questionable means for more wholesome ends.

But Peter shuddered to think who Neal could've been had he formed any real loyalty to someone like Keller, someone who didn't care for Neal personally beyond his skills, someone who would have no qualms in manipulating him and pulling him in a dangerous direction for personal gain.

In many ways Neal was almost like a child. Peter had realized fairly early into his chase of the young forger that Caffrey's motives were different from most criminals. As he had grown to know the young criminal better he had felt almost a sense of grief as he watched the kid take the shiny things that attracted his attention, just for the fun of it. It was clear to Peter that, although Neal was not completely lacking in morality, any real understanding of right and wrong (beyond a strong conviction of not hurting anyone and protecting those who needed it) had been shattered. Likely on his eighteenth birthday, though, Peter suspected the seeds had been planted even before.

The responsibility of being the first person in Neal's life who could actually teach him the difference between right and wrong had been a heavy one, but Peter had seen the good heart underneath the brazen exterior and had shouldered it willingly over the past years.

And Neal had grown. He was no longer the thoughtless, cocky thief that he'd been in the beginning, no longer as selfish or as mindless of the consequences. Though he'd disappointed Peter time and again, there had also been just as many times and more that Peter had been proud to call him a partner and proud to find that perhaps Neal had been listening to him after all. Neal was trying and Peter knew that.

But he still needed others to show him the way. He still relied on others for a conscience, and in that way he was still a child, someone who could be molded and manipulated by the right person. Peter felt a heavy feeling of guilt settle in his stomach at the thought. You didn't send a kid into a dangerous operation—so why on earth had he sent Neal Caffrey, the situational equivalent, into this?

Peter physically shook himself after a moment with the heavy thought—he was getting ahead of himself here. He didn't know that Summers had done anything but get information about the FBI operation. Neal had seemed alright, hadn't he?

He thought carefully back over Neal's actions since he had returned from the session.

Neal had certainly certainly been unnerved by how easily Summers had been able to gain the information from him, worried by the fact that he couldn't remember it, shaken by the what she had done to get the info. He'd been pale but Peter suspected that was more stemming from nausea from the drug cocktail which the medics had reassured was normal and not dangerous. Overall, he'd acted not particularly unusually, under the circumstances. He didn't seem like he was about to go off the deep end and rob the FBI gem vault or anything idiotic like that. He also hadn't seemed as disoriented as Griffith had been during his interrogation the day before. Still, Peter felt a rather large pit of unease in his gut. He could only hope Caffrey really had emerged unscathed, but time would tell.

WCWCWCWCWCWC

It was a viscerally terrifying thing for a con man to wake up in a shrink's office, dizzy, ill, with no recollection of anything said or done in the past few hours. The last memory was of the woman's face in front of him telling him to relax. And then—nothing.

There was a reason Neal could count the amount of times he'd gotten really drunk on both his hands and maybe one foot—when you lived a life of secrets you couldn't afford lowering your capacities and waking up from a night of drinking with no recollection of who you'd spilled everything to or what the feds might be coming after you for next. But it was an order of magnitude more horrifying when they were lowered for you—without your permission. That had happened once or twice too, but it never failed to be just as terrifying.

By the time Neal had stumbled out of Summers' office and collapsed in the backseat of a cab—

"You okay back there bub? You're looking a bit peaky."

"Fine. FBI headquarters."

"If you're sure..."

—he had begun to remember the beginning of the session, before the drugs had really kicked in. It took an unusual amount of effort to pull himself together, straightening his tie and running a hand through his hair, determined not to look completely disarrayed as he burst into White Collar with an admission of his disturbing failure. The cab wove nauseatingly through the traffic as his mind raced to piece the day back together with some semblance of order.

Neal had never really talked to a shrink before, not in a formal setting anyway. He'd consulted with a crooked one or two, Mozzie's friends who had taught him important lessons for his trade—enough to pass himself off as psychiatrist when needed for a con. But he'd never sat down to have a real session and certainly never wanted to.

This was an undercover operation though, entirely different, and sure, he was 'Neal Caffrey' on this one and not any of his aliases which might have added an extra layer of security, but Neal Caffrey didn't give anyone anything he didn't want to give. So he'd sat back with a smile, and had played along with Summers' games.

"Can you make something of that?" He had to admit he was curious about what the word association game had said. He'd been surprised by some of his own answers.

"It's too early to diagnose." Summers sidestepped the question. He resisted an eye-roll at her hesitance to tell the truth,

"I assure you I can handle it, Dr."

Narcissism, she would probably say, he'd heard that plenty of times before—had even researched it out of curiosity. Perhaps he had an inflated view of self but he knew he wasn't a true narcissist. She looked at him over the top of her notebook and seemed to decide something.

"Your behavior is sociopathic."

The words hit like four tiny, poisonous darts, utterly startling, horrifying in their sting.

"I'm sorry?" For a moment he couldn't hold back the very real shock.

"I'm a wall." He had told Peter with cocky confidence, but now, as this woman sitting across the small table analyzed him with cold precision, that wall was tumbling with terrifying speed. He felt his heart rate speeding up his cheeks heating as she knocked away his protests. Her words grew far too close for comfort as she found the hurts that he'd been hiding in the dark and brought them out into blinding, humiliating light.

She had clawed her way to his center, and within a half an hour was neatly dissecting him, revealing dark things that'd he'd never even consciously realized himself. But even as she spoke he knew how true her words were.

"Why would I delude myself?" Relax, lean back, tilt your head, raise an eyebrow, she's absurd!—smile.

"Because you don't want people to see your vulnerabilities."

"I don't strike you as confident?" Lean back Caffrey, open up your body language, relax your shoulders, tilt your head up, innocent eyes, stay humorous but don't be flippant, keep your expression calm—smile.

"Confident people admit to their flaws, you don't. Instead you smile. A lot."

He could feel the smile slip off his face. Each of her questions, each calm comment seemed to set him back as he tried to claw his way back into control of the conversation. He could feel frustration and some real anger taking hold, pushing him further away from his usual cool restraint and sending him spiraling.

"You don't think that I can change!" There was real hurt, confused anger and frustration in his voice and he was startled by his inability to hide it.

"I'm asking if you want to." Maddeningly calm, her words echoed through his skull as he suppressed a feeling of growing nausea. He felt a horrifying realization growing from the implication of her words but his mind fogged before he could think it through.

He remembered little after that.