"Jesus Christ, Neal," Peter groaned, fighting down a mouthful of panic. Leaning down, he snatched up the fragments of the kid's anklet and closed his eyes at its complete state of disrepair. There was no way he could fix it and there was no doubt about it… the Marshalls could be only moments away. Staring at the silent, ashen faced Neal he forced himself to think rationally.

Lie.

He would simply have to lie.

"Neal," hissed Peter urgently, leaning down in front of his pale looking protégé, "Neal, if you've never listened to me before and never intend to listen to me again, you have to listen to me now. The Marshalls will be here any minute and I will do the talking. I forcibly removed your anklet to see how easy or difficult it would be if the need arose to do so when you were undercover. I will say I had sent in the alerting paperwork to the Marshalls before close of business today but that it must've been missed. You will go along with everything I say and speak only if and when spoken to. Do you understand me?"

Neal continued to stare blankly in front of him at the now dusky New York skyline.

"Neal!" Peter snapped with panic threatening to overwhelm him. "Did you hear me? Do you understand what the story is because there's going to be knock on that door any minute now."

The pale face under the dark, tousled mop of hair registered nothing. Peter scrubbed a hand over his eyes in frustration so harshly that white dots appeared behind his lids. If the kid wouldn't go along with the plan, there was nothing he could do. Tampering with an anklet was an immediate, one-way and non-refundable ticket back to high security. Reaching out, he placed firm hands on Neal's slender shoulders and shook him none-too-gently.

"Neal! Will you wake up? I need to know that you understand what to say."

"I understand," Neal replied softly after a pregnant pause. "I heard what you had to say and I understood what you had to say. You're done with me and I completely get it… but I can't be handed over to someone else, Peter, I just can't. I would rather be back in prison. At least there… at least there I answer to myself and myself only. I can wait out my time there but I cannot wait it out at the beck and call of some stranger. I'm sorry, but I just can't. You should get out of here before the Marshalls come. I don't want you mixed up in this."

If ever it was possible to drop dead from guilt, Peter would be halfway to the other side.

"I am not handing you over to someone else, Neal," he said loudly. "I lost my temper and said a lot of stuff I shouldn't have. Stuff I didn't mean, stuff I could never mean. I am not rescinding our deal or our partnership. Ok?"

Neal finally met his gaze.

"You're just saying that to try and stop me," he said with a sad smile. "We both know if I go along with your plan to explain this to the Marshalls that you're still going to can me and that's ok. Like I said, I get it. You don't want your C.I. to be arrested and thrown back in jail. That kind of thing can end your career but I promise I will make it clear to them there was nothing you could have done to prevent this, ok? Now, like I said, you should get out of here before-"

"Neal I was an ass, ok? A prize ass. I lost my cool with you and lashed out. I could never hand you over to someone else and I could never can you, ok? I might threaten to send you back to prison from time to time but I think we both know its an empty threat. Please kid. I need you to give me another chance here and go along with this story so that the Marshalls don't cause trouble. Can you do that for me?"

Neal looked at him with bewildered blue eyes.

"You want me to give you a second chance?"

Peter nodded without hesitation.

"Yes, Neal," he said gently. "I am asking you to give me a second chance."

"But… but it's always the other way around," the younger man mumbled. "You're the one who has to give me the second chance and a third, fourth… one hundredth. I don't ever need to give you a second chance."

Peter closed his eyes in despair knowing time was running out.

"Neal, I am not perfect ok? I'm far from it. I make mistakes, same as you do and when I do… I need the people around me to give me another shot. You think El hasn't had to give me hundreds of second chances over the years? That's what family does, Neal. They give second chances."

The kid looked at him blankly.

"But I'm not your family, Peter."

"The hell you aren't," the older man bit back gruffly. "Do you see me chasing Diana or Jones down across the rooftops of New York? I care about them more than you or they can know but you… you're different, Neal. You're a royal pain in the ass but you're… well, you're my pain in the ass. Mine and El's. So, can you please think about giving me a reprieve here and trusting me when I tell you that anything I said in that apartment within the last few hours was nothing more than the adult equivalent of a tantrum. I didn't mean any of it."

He took a deep breath instinctively knowing it was now or never.

"So, what's it to be Neal. Are you going to give me a second chance or are you going to throw away everything you've worked for and have the Marshalls drag you out of here in cuffs?"

Before Neal could answer, a loud hammering erupted from the apartment within. Heart and soul sinking, Peter stood and strode quickly to the door. Opening it, he raised a cool brow at the three Marshalls that stood on the threshold, slipping into character for a show he could only pray to God would work out.

"Gentlemen. What can I do for you?"

The ringleader, who Peter knew to be a mean son of a bitch, raised a bushy brow.

"Where's that damned poodle of yours, Burke? He's off his leash and it's about time he was brought in. This has been a long time coming and if you try and interfere with this arrest, your Boss is going to hear all about it. Are we clear?"

Peter managed to put in an Oscar winning performance.

"If you had checked your own systems prior to arriving at the door of a private citizen all guns blazing, Connolly, you would know that this was a planned operation. I am the one who removed Neal's anklet, with a chisel in case you were wondering, in an organised attempt to gauge removability in an emergency situation. This was approved by the Bureau and the alerting paperwork went into your office long before the close of business today."

Connolly blinked stupidly before recovering.

"We received no such correspondence."

Peter shrugged nonchalantly.

"That's not my problem because I know I sent it. If it's missing, misfiled or lost in the ether, that's a you problem but suffice it to say your services are not required here tonight and so I hope you have a good evening."

He made to close the door and was not surprised when Connolly shot out a beefy hand.

"Not so fast, Burke," he snapped. "I want to directly verify your story with that little snake Caffrey… assuming he is here?"

Feeling his heart sink into his shoes, Peter took a deep breath. Connolly's request was proper procedure and was not capable of being denied. Swallowing, he worked hard to remain outwardly calm before raising his voice slightly.

"Neal? Could you come out here for a moment please?"

For what seemed like an eternity, there was no response and a self-satisfied smirk was beginning to bloom across Connolly's face which faded when faint footsteps were heard. Peter held his breath as Neal casually sauntered around the corner, his most dazzling smile plastered across his face. Coming to a halt shoulder to shoulder beside Peter, he looked at the Marshalls with wide, innocent eyes.

"Gentleman. Can we help you?"

Connolly snarled.

"You can help me by confirming the circumstances which surround the fact that your anklet is no longer attached to your damn ankle, Caffrey."

Neal didn't miss a beat.

"Oh, I thought you guys were sent a detailed warning that my anklet would be going dark this evening. We were conducting a timed experiment as to the possibility of removing the anklet by force in the event that it proves necessary in an undercover situation. The anklet is broken but I believe Peter has requisitioned a new one which should be at our offices by tomorrow morning. Isn't that right, Peter?"

Agent Burke could have kissed the kid.

"That's exactly right," he said smoothly, turning to face an aggrieved looking Connolly. "So if that's all gentlemen, we've had rather a long day and would really like to get back to our evening."

Rolling his eyes and muttering about incompetent secretaries, Connolly spun on his heel and stormed back the way he had come, his cronies following silently in toe. Shutting the apartment door softly, Peter let out a long, hard sigh of relief before turning slowly to face a silent Neal.

"Does this mean you're going to give me that second chance?"

Neal studied the elder man for a beat before nodding slowly.

"Peter, you didn't do anything wrong. Anyone else-"

Peter held up a silencing hand.

"Neal. You need to understand that I did do something wrong. I lost my cool and lashed out at you in a mean spirited and hurtful way. That is never acceptable and I am very sorry. I need you to understand that no matter what comes out of my mouth when I'm furious with you, I will never, ever give up on you. Like it or not, kid, you're pretty much stuck with me."

Neal looked down at the ground and studied the ground for a moment.

"You mean that?" he eventually mumbled, his voice tinged with an uncharacteristic shyness.

"Which bit, Neal?"

"The bit about… about me being stuck with you."

Peter smiled slightly and reaching out placed a finger under the kid's chin and tilted it gently upwards so their eyelines were level.

"Yes, Neal. I really mean that. You can pretty much consider me an unfortunate skin condition that never clears up, no matter how much of ridiculously your expensive lotions you throw at it."

For the first time in what felt like a million years, Peter saw Neal grin his trademark grin.

"Skin like mine costs money, Peter. You know that."

Relief flooded through Peter like a burst dam and reaching out, he pulled the kid into a hug and was relieved when it was returned without hesitation. Releasing the kid and carding a hand through his hair, Peter sobered slightly. Glancing around, he made up his mind and placing a firm hand on the boy's shoulder, steered him over to his bedroom.

"Okay kid. Here's the plan. You're going to pack a bag with enough fresh clothes for a week or so and then you, me and that pot of Ragu out there are getting into my car and heading back to mine."

Neal, for the first time, looked slightly apprehensive.

"Uhh… why?"

"You know why," Peter responded simply. "I screwed up spectacularly this evening but so did you and that is not going to go unanswered. You're grounded for the foreseeable, to be served at my house, and we will be having… a long conversation about this caper tomorrow. For now, I want to get you home and fed before letting El fuss all over you."

Blanching at the promised grounding and long conversation, Neal brightened somewhat at the idea of El fussing over him. Realising that to fight was futile he grabbed a nearby duffle. Throwing some clothes into it under Peter's watchful eye, a sudden, sly smile spread across his face.

"Peter?"

Feeling a small bite of apprehension at the cocky smile, Peter raised a brow.

"Yes, Neal?"

Zipping up the bag and turning to face the older man, Neal's smile widened.

"You came back over here so quickly because you went home and unloaded on El about what I did and how you reacted thinking she would back you up and she kicked your ass, huh? She also warned you not to come back to the house without me, didn't she?"

A dark flush spread across Peter's cheek as he spluttered indignantly.

"Absolutely not… no… you're completely incorrect and… for that matter, don't you think you're in enough trouble without giving me lip right now?"

Neal smirked.

"I am completely correct. That is exactly what happened, isn't it?"

He chuckled.

"Scary Special Agent Burke is no match for an angry Mrs Burke, huh?"

Peter was about to scold the incorrigible kid before a sly smile of his own emerged.

"Oh, if I were you Neal I would be much more concerned with your ability to deal with an angry Mrs Bruke than mine."

The smile slipped right off Neal's face.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Flicking off the lights and guiding the kid towards the door, Peter reached back and issued a swearing swat across Neal's sweatpants clad behind extracting a loud, surprised yelp.

"Let's just say that my hand might well hurt but it's nothing compared to the Elizabeth Burke lecture you got coming."

…..

See? I promised I would fix them!

Would you guys mind letting me know how you read Fanfiction please? Is it primarily on a laptop/desktop? It would be helpful to know from a formatting point of view as they display quite differently. Thanks, Inks x

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