Jones arrives at the Burke house thirty minutes after receiving the call. He'd stayed late in the office, forgoing his usual wind down date at the gym to wait on a completely different call, but when Peter asked if he could come around right away, something about the distress in his voice had him using some questionable driving to do just that.

Reaching the top stoop, the porch door swings open before he has a chance to knock, as if Peter's been standing behind it waiting for him to arrive.

"Thanks for coming." He ushers him inside

"No problem." Jones walks in, wiping his feet.

"Hi Clinton," Elizabeth greets from the dining room where's she's laying the table.

"Mrs Burke." He nods, but doesn't venture further into the house. Caffrey may be a regular fixture here, feeling free to disregard normal social boundaries and wander wherever he pleases, but Jones knows his relationship with the Burke's is far more professional and respects that difference immensely. "So," he turns to his boss when the silence stretches on, "you were kind of cryptic on the phone?"

He watches his boss and wife exchange worried glances, surprisingly it's Elizabeth who abandons her task and steps forward.

"We need your help."

.

"Caffrey?" Jones knocks on the closed bedroom door.

He receives a low hum of acknowledgement, so decides to forgo waiting on an actual invite and walks straight in. What he discovers isn't quite what he'd been expecting. Based on what he'd just been told, he'd prepared for the worst, but what he's found is Caffrey dressed in jogging bottoms and a long sleeve tee, sitting crossed legged in the middle of the twin bed, a sketchbook resting on both knees with not an ounce of gel in his hair.

Disconcerted by the utter casualness of the situation, Jones shoves both hands in his pockets and asks the first thing that pops in his head. "Don't know where to start?"

Neal's eyes rise in accusation, then following his gaze, fall to the pencil held suspended over the blank page. "Something like that." Dropping said pencil, letting it bounce on the mattress and roll off to hit the floor, he heaves a heavy put-upon sigh. "Peter call you?"

"He told me what happened." Jones nods simply, stepping further inside and shutting the door.

Observing him carefully Jones can tell something's going on behind those expressive blue eyes, something not good, but before he can open his mouth to ask, Neal suddenly and frantically shakes his head.

"I'm not going to talk about it." He pushes the sketch pad off his lap and stands, retreating to the other side of the room.

"That's fine." Jones shrugs, brushing off the sudden change from calm to frantic and slides around the arm chair facing the bed. "You don't have to."

"Yeah I do," Neal chuckles dryly, "Peter wants to know," he points in his direction. "That's why you're here."

Jones can't refute that. Peter's never needed help handling Caffrey before, the two of the them are inseparable. It had worried him at first, the closeness that seem to form out of nowhere. It took him over two years of being an Agent in White Collar to even get considered for Burke's task force, yet Peter allowed Neal more influence and insight into the department on his first day than most rookies get their first year on the job. Now he holds the perspective that Peter's taken Neal on as a project as well as an asset. Whatever he can do to help, he's fine with that.

"Okay, yeah he's worried about you," Jones nods, taking a seat. "Tell me what you need."

"Not to tell Peter." Neal blurts firmly. "That's… that's what I need. Don't tell Peter, anything. I can't…" he cuts himself off, pinching his nose and closing his eyes, taking several steadying deep breaths before speaking again. "He can't know."

Jones sighs and looks briefly down at his clasped hands. It's a repeat of their conversation this afternoon in the car, only much less playful. "He'll understand."

Neal stares at him through deeply troubled eyes. "He won't."

There's no conviction in his words, which means it's a question. Will Peter understand? Will Peter freak out if he shares what happened? Will any of them look at him the same way again? Admittedly this is new territory for them, and Jones can't be sure of Neal's reaction to being seen like this. Up until now they've been pretty much professional equals, sharing a joke, a drink or a little wisdom. Personally, Caffrey's always been a wall.

"Look," he waits for Neal to look over at him. "I can tell you one thing. Keeping this to yourself, it does no one any good. I've lost more friends to PTSD than I did in service." Sensing this entire conversation is going to be mostly one way, he asks the question most needed answering right now. "Forget about Peter for a minute, or anyone else and what they might think." Jones sits forward. "Do you honestly think you can speak about what happened?"

Collapsing dejectedly on the bed, eyes to the floor Neal shrugs and nods, muttering a barely detectable "sure."

"Okay," Jones leans in. "Do you want to?"

…

"Peter!"

Peter jumps and frantically shushes El as he guides her away from the bottom of the stairs.

"It's not what it looks like." They reach the perceived safety of the kitchen, "I wasn't spying."

El is predictably unimpressed. "That's exactly what you were doing."

"No!... No," he repeats more calmly, glancing nervously over his shoulder. "I was just going to check on them. It's been a while."

She's tired of playing these games and having to pick up the pieces. El feels very much like she gives a hell of lot to this marriage and a life she never envisioned living. Before meeting Peter her plan involved fancy food, plenty of wine and beautiful venues where she could get up close and personal with the most revered art. Not that she regrets anything, she loves Peter and loves that he includes her in his world, but that world is sometimes scary and when things get dangerous, the last thing they need is him keeping secrets from her.

"Don't lie to me Peter Burke." She tells him straight, no emotion, no manipulation.

"I'm not-"

"Zip it!" El holds up her hand, gaze like steel. "You're worried about him. I know, Jones knows, we all know, thing is the one person who doesn't know is the one that really needs to, because right now it seems like you're really irritated by his very presence."

Peter rears back, eyes wide, mouth open, struggling to form the words… "He does not-"

"Peter when you came home, were you or were you not yelling at him, threatening him with prison?"

"I did that, but-"

"And this morning, did you or did you not threaten him, and I quote, 'not to complicate your day'?" She folds her arms, eyebrows raised, daring him to correct her.

Luckily Peter has enough sense to look contrite. "That's what I always say, it's just our thing, he knows I'm being hard on him for his own good..."

Normally she's fully committed to supporting her husband, but not when she's knows he's knows he's completely out of line.

"Peter, you've been snappy and short-tempered ever since Neal started back to work." Leaning forward she takes his hands in hers. "Hon, he's been through something I don't want to even imagine, but he needs to talk in his own time. He needs to talk to the Peter Burke who isn't going to flip out the second he hears something he doesn't like. He needs to talk to the Peter Burke who will give him what he needs most." She demonstrates by enveloping him a loose hug. "Just be there for him, let Neal decide what he needs and when. You don't always have to fix everything."

.

The second Jones appears in his room Neal's heart sinks. He'd so been hoping he could just hide away up here until the morning and pretend nothing from the past twenty-fours ever happened.

Of course, Peter would have other plans.

The day so far had quite frankly, sucked. As if getting unintentionally involved in a cop chase this morning wasn't enough, running from Diana and then Peter certainly should be. Only this morning Peter read him the riot act on expected behaviour in the office and he'd honestly intended to comply, bar the odd complaint about his own mistreatment of course. All part and parcel of his plan to wear Peter down, annoy him into picking a case that actually gets them out in the field. The furthest he's walked during the hours of 9 – 5 has been the copier room one floor down, and even then, half the time Peter makes the intern go with him.

To try and make up for everything he's spent the better part of this evening trying to get on paper the nightmarish images from his dreams. A sketch of the bastard responsible would surely put him back in Peter's good books because it would give him something to go on, but alas, the second he even thinks of putting pencil to paper he freezes, unable to make a mark no matter how hard he tries.

"I'm not going to talk about it." Neal dismisses, jumping off the bed, discarding the useless sketch pad.

Jones brushes off his refusal. "You don't have to."

But Neal knows that's a lie. Don't kid a kidder, something his mom used to say to him all the time.

"Don't tell Peter," is his answering request when Jones asks what he needs.

He's trying to get him to relax, to let his guard down and share in his own time. All the tricks he's used on countless marks over the years.

"He'll understand."

Neal's response is automatic. "He won't."

Despaired Neal drops back down on the bed, legs no longer having the strength to hold him up. The empty sketch pad mocking him from its discarded place on the floor. Jones has no idea of his true thoughts. His real worry is that if he tells the full story Peter will take matters into his own hands and that will spell the end of his FBI career. He's caused enough trouble in Peter's life, him getting fired for assaulting another federal agent cannot be Neal's legacy.

It takes a minute for Jones' soft words to break through his panic, but he answers the questions asked of him. Yes, he can talk about what happened and yeah, he does want to surprisingly. No lies there. But he's not yet ready, not yet got the narrative formed in his head. He can't even sketch that nightmare face from his dream, so he's not overly surprised despite his natural desire to talk, he can't find the words.

Just as he's working up to telling Jones this, so he knows Neal's not being difficult on purpose for a change, Peter appears, knocking on the door as he's opening it.

"Can I come in?" he asks purely out of formality.

Neal stays the silent observer, gaze tracking the awkward movements of Peter and the purposeful actions of Jones as they swap places.

"I'll just be downstairs." Jones excuses himself politely.

To which Peter responds warmly, thanking him. A soft smile on his lips, the likes of which Neal remembers used to be aimed at him no so long ago.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Neal speaks tiredly, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor. "Haven't we been down this road already?"

His words are cool and belay a control he knows he doesn't feel, but that's always been his skill. If he couldn't convince people of things that aren't real then what kind of conman would he be?

"I was hoping we could try again." Peter stands from the chair to sit by his side on the bed.

With an exaggerated eye roll Neal shuffles over, tucking clasped hands between his knees. "You're not going to quit, are you?"

"Have I ever?" Peter grins, nudging Neal's shoulder with his own.

Neal looks down at his feet with a snort. "I guess not."

He always feels small next to Peter, like he embodies everything Neal wants to be but knows never will. That's just not meant to be his life. Some, mainly Mozzie, say he needs to get over it and embrace his present since the future can never be seen, but Neal has always been a dreamer and without hope that things can be different, Neal's not sure he could continue being him.

...

Silence hangs between them. Peter lets it linger for a short while, taking on board his wife's advice about not trying to fix everything, but avoidance can only be a short-term response. Neal is going to have to face reality eventually and in his experience, it's best not to prolong the inevitable.

"Things haven't been easy, have they?" He starts diffidently, hinting at more than just the past three weeks.

"No, they certainly have not."

Risking a glance sideways Peter is pleased to see the slight upturn of Neal's lips as his speaks. He realises it's been a long time since he's seen Neal smile, not his conman 'trust me' smile, or the faux friendly 'everything's sunshine' smile. A real show of amusement, no matter how sardonic. But unfortunately, those five words and the facial tick which could almost be a grin seems to be all the response he's going to get. Silence once again engulfs the room, leaving them both staring at the floor twiddling their thumbs, and the pressure is on him again to break it. Peter may not be as good as El in the whole 'emotional support' department, but he isn't the kind of guy who can sit around and wait for someone else to make the difference either.

Letting his hands drop between his knees, Peter gears up to start the conversation he's been pushing for since they got Neal back. "Look, Neal -"

"Peter about today…" Neal breathes at the same time, gaze travelling to the ceiling and staying there.

Sensing this moment is not his to control after all, Peter keeps quiet and with a tip of his chin lets Neal have the floor.

"I wasn't trying to cause you trouble."

"Not what it looked like." He retorts before thinking better of it.

Peter sees the mixture of emotion cross the kids pale face and instead of butting in with the rest of what he wants to say, he waits. And the pay off is better than he expected. It's telling how much people miss by not watching, by not paying attention to what others are saying and only waiting for their chance to speak.

"I know," Neal nods slowly. "I don't know what I was running from, not really. I guess just being in the van… But I want you to know," he turns quickly, looking Peter in the eye, "I wasn't running from you… I wouldn't." Forcing a smile, the hold Neal has on keeping his tears at bay loosens. "Shit." He quickly turns away, swiping at the errant drops trailing his cheeks.

"It's okay," Peter tells him, feeling like a total heel for not considering Neal's pre-existing anxiety about being in the van before throwing him in there.

"No, it isn't." Neal angrily shakes his head, making a swipe of his nose with his sleeve.

"Ew, what are you five?" Peter bats the offending appendage away without thinking.

Dropping his gaze, Neal pulls away and just like that they're back to where they started this conversation, only Peter's looking at Neal not the floor and he hates what he sees.

He knows this isn't just about the van. It's everything that's built up between them and been ripped apart again, this time courtesy of Ruiz. Their relationship has developed by leaps and bounds in such a short time, the term 'friend' is no longer how Peter thinks of him. Neal Caffrey came into his life as a case file, part of his job, but instead of walking away once his job was done Peter found it impossible to just walk away. When he supported Neal through his trial, making sure the kid was safe in lock up since he was justifiably denied bail, and again following his sentencing, he told himself he was just doing his job. When he touched base with a few of his guard friends on their regular poker nights he passed his enquires off as mere curiosity. The day he finally let go, the same day Reese gave him an ultimatum, his final act was an instruction. If anything happened to Neal before his release, they were to call him directly. And for three years, six months, Peter heard nothing. Until Diana gave him the news that day in the bank. Neal had escaped and the warden was requesting his help to get him back.

Now, despite all he's done, all he's likely to do, there is no denying it, Neal is family. Someone Peter will put his life on the line to protect. What he never saw coming, what he couldn't have predicted if it slapped him in the face was this. Neal reciprocating the feeling of family, looking at him as something more than his ticket out of jail, like Peter had never not been there for him and could always be relied upon to make things right. I wasn't running from you… I wouldn't.

Those words bring a moment of clarity, where all is still, only the sound of Neal's soft breathing breaking the stifling atmosphere.

"Come here," not waiting for him to comply, Peter awkwardly reaches around the hunched shoulders to squeeze his arm.

"I'm sorry…" Neal mumbles tightly, sounding utterly confused by his own loss of control.

"You don't have to be," Peter shakes him playfully. Then he thinks more about it, curiosity getting the better of him, "for what incidentally?"

"Everything." He laughs feverishly. "Now, last night, this morning, pissing Diana off." He reels off, ticking each one with his fingers. "I should have just stayed in the office like you said."

And with that shameful admission out, Neal grips the sleeve of Peter's still attic dusted shirt and turns, burying his face in the material bunched at the shoulder. There's no tears, no shaking, no nothing. Just Neal hiding from the world and using Peter as his shield to do it.

"Yeah you should have." He heaves a heavy sigh, the weight of responsibility pressing down upon him once again.

Firming up his hold using both arms, settling into the role Neal has chosen for him to play, Peter lightly presses his lips to the hot forehead resting against his shoulder. Communicating in that one pure gesture all the love of friendship, the burden of parenthood and that no matter what, he'll be there to come between him and anything that tries to hurt him.

TBC…

A/N: thanks for reading! On a positive note the next two chapter have been completed… just need a final edit. Next one will be up later next the week 😊