Chapter 16 Nightmares: The Trap

A/N: In the last chapter, Neal said 90% of what Henry had planned was the set up, and the rest would be a trap. We're about to fall into the trap.

Burke residence, Brooklyn. January 7, 2004 – Wednesday night.

When Neal returned to the living room with a glass of water, he was glad to see Henry's laptop closed. The crime scene photo Henry had been displaying, showing where Neal had been found almost dead after being abducted as a child, made Neal queasy.

He wasn't surprised that Henry had looked up information about the ordeal. They both had inquisitive minds, and Henry often acted like a protective older brother. He'd want to understand the demons in Neal's past and try to help slay them. But Neal didn't want to talk about them. And that meant he didn't want Peter to get too curious about them, either. Neal was starting to think that while having a big brother or a father figure was nice, dealing with both of them at once was overwhelming.

It was a relief when Henry jumped to yet another topic: the experiment he'd first mentioned in the pub.

"We're going to try a variation on the question session about my background, but this time we'll let Neal answer the question. Agent Burke, you can use any means you want to convince Neal to tell you the name of the city where I live. Neal, you can lie, evade, or take any other means to avoid telling him where I live. But you can't leave. You both have to stay here in this room, until I say the experiment is over. Got that?"

Neal got it. This was where the set up ended, and the trap began. Clearly Henry had noticed that Neal couldn't seem to lie to Peter. That was embarrassing, but maybe at the end of this experiment Henry could explain the cause and the fix for the situation. And honestly, Neal was curious about the outcome of this experiment. He nodded, agreeing to walk into the trap.

Peter also nodded. He turned on the sofa to face Neal. "This doesn't have to be a big deal. Tell me the name of the city, and we can have this over with."

Neal grinned. "Where would be the fun in that?"

"You've already told me he doesn't live in D.C."

"Did I?" Neal countered. "I said his mom moved away from D.C. when she got married. That only means he didn't grow up there. He could have moved there as an adult."

"Then why stay at his grandparents' home the weekend you were both in town?"

"Oh, you should see their house, Peter. It's amazing."

Elizabeth walked downstairs wearing a fuzzy green robe over a pair of pajamas. "Still going?" she asked with a yawn. "I have the guest room ready whenever you want it."

"I'm sorry, hon," Peter said. "I didn't realize it was getting late."

"That's fine," she said. "If you're all good down here, I'm going to grab a book and take it upstairs to read. Is there anything you need?"

When they said no, she pulled a book from the shelf and went back upstairs, yawning again. Neal almost yawned in return, and wondered about the time. He couldn't check, because Henry had taken their watches almost as soon as they arrived at the Burke residence.

"Does he live in D.C.?" Peter asked.

"No."

"In the United States?"

"Yes."

Henry spoke up. "At this rate, we'll still be at this until dawn. Are you going to name every city in the country and ask if that's it? I expected something more impressive from an FBI agent."

"Slow and steady wins the race," Peter said.

Henry shook his head. "Not tonight. He's already yawning. Yes, I saw that, Neal. You realize he can escape your questioning simply by falling asleep."

Peter studied Neal a moment. "You didn't see the second floor on your last visit. The guest room is nice. The mattress is new, high quality. You'll like it. As soon as you tell me where Winslow lives, you can go upstairs and sleep."

"That's okay. I'm fine with sleeping on the sofa if I have to."

"Neal, why are you doing what your cousin tells you? You can make your own decisions."

"I know, but this time he's right. I need to do this," Neal said.

"Tell me a lie," Peter said.

"What?"

"Tell me he lives in New York."

Neal shrugged. "Henry lives in New York."

"No," Peter said. "Not like that. Tell a convincing lie. With your reputation as a con artist, you must be good at lying."

"What's the point?" Neal asked.

"I want to see if you have any tells."

Boston, Neal decided. That's the city he would name. He imagined a scenario where Henry lived in Boston, and only had to convince Peter to join him in this fantasy. He smiled that confident grin he used to win someone over to his world of a con artist's make-believe. "He's moved around a lot," Neal said, starting with a truth to gain momentum. "If he had to provide ten years' of address history for the FBI, it would go on for pages. But now… Now he lives in…" He could feel his smile faltering. He couldn't keep meeting Peter's eyes. He wanted out of this room, but he couldn't leave. That was the one rule: he couldn't run away. At least not physically, but there were other types of escape. He slumped a little, breathed a little faster, and unknotted his tie. He picked up his glass of ice water and held it up against his forehead a moment, before taking a drink and placing the glass back down again. "Henry, I'm sorry. I don't think I can do this tonight."

Henry applauded. "Excellent performance."

Neal looked at Peter, who said, "If I hadn't seen you truly sick in St. Louis, I would have been fooled. But why go to all that effort instead of naming a city where he doesn't live?"

"He did exactly what you asked," Henry said. "He told a lie."

"Were you fooled?" Peter asked.

"Of course not," Henry scoffed. "I've dragged him to a hospital with pneumonia. I know when he's sick, usually long before he's willing to admit it."

Neal was grateful for Henry taking the attention and giving him a chance to regain his composure, but worried that Peter was close to guessing Neal's inability to lie to him. "I told Peter you took me to a morgue once when I refused to see a doctor."

Henry shook his head at the memory. "I'd never been that scared before."

"I couldn't tell," Neal said. "You seemed totally in control. And sarcastic. That's what I remember the most."

"I'm surprised you remember anything about that day. You had a raging fever."

"I thought it was a heat wave."

"Right. Because Chicago is known for heat waves in March. The snow that had fallen the day before hadn't melted yet." Then Henry asked, "Well, Peter, do you give up?"

"No, but I'd like to know the point of this experiment," Peter said.

"It doesn't work like that. If the subjects know the goal of the experiment, it influences their performance. You need to remain focused on your assignments."

Peter drank more coffee and grimaced. "This is getting cold. I'm going to freshen my cup. Anyone else want some?"

"You can't do that," Henry said. "No leaving the living room."

"It's just the kitchen," Peter insisted. "I'll leave the door open if that makes you happy."

"I'll refill it for you," Henry said. He took Peter's coffee mug to the kitchen.

Peter looked at Neal. "Let's try another approach. Tell me how I can convince you to give me the truth. What will it take?"

"I'm not for sale, Peter."

"And you're competitive. You're treating this like a competition and you're determined not to give up."

"Right back at you," Neal said.

"This really could last all night." Peter sighed. "Neal, please, don't drag this out. We both have to go to work in the morning and you don't want to spend the day in the van after an all-nighter. As a favor to me, will you tell me the truth? Where does Henry live?"

"I promised to do my best not to tell," Neal objected.

"No you didn't," Peter argued. "Henry told you his rules, but never asked for your agreement. He only asked if you understood."

"You're splitting hairs," Neal said. "You know what he meant."

"Are you going to make me turn this into an interrogation? Because I don't want to use those methods on you. But I will if that's what it takes to get this over with."

"It's hard to be intimidated when I know you like me, Peter. I won't believe any threats to imprison me. What do you have left?"

"Neal." Peter reached out to place a hand on Neal's arm. He took a deep breath, and actually looked nervous. That was a first. Peter looked directly into Neal's eyes and said, "Son."

Neal froze in shock. He hadn't expected this. And he'd never experienced this almost painful combination of joy and terror. He shuddered.

"Congratulations." Henry placed a mug of coffee on the table.

"I shouldn't have… He wasn't ready," Peter said, an edge of panic in his voice.

"No one ever is," Henry said cryptically. "Neal, it's okay."

Neal ran his hands through his hair, before looking up at Peter again. "Baltimore. He lives in Baltimore."

"That right." Henry stood again. "And your assignment is over. Try to stay awake long enough to get upstairs, and then we can all finally get some sleep."

"Are you all right, Neal?" Peter asked.

"I'll take care of him," Henry said. "You can talk about it tomorrow. Or later today, depending on what time it is."

Peter pulled up his sleeve slightly, to reveal a bare wrist. "Where's my watch?"

"Your wife has it, and your phone. They're upstairs." Henry grabbed Neal by an arm and pulled him to his feet. "C'mon, kiddo."

"You shouldn't have done that," Neal said. Putting everything together now, he realized the trap had never been for him. It had been a trap for Peter.

"Don't judge the experiment until you analyze the results," Henry cautioned. "You're going to feel differently about this in the morning."

Neal's first inclination was to argue, but he held back. Partly because he was too tired to make a decent effort, and partly because he had enough experience with Henry's experiments to know that Henry went into these things with good intentions and good instincts. Instead he said, "Don't do that again," and followed Henry up the stairs.

Upstairs, Neal found his overnight bag on the guest room bed. But when he opened the bag, he discovered Henry had made a change to the contents. His black sweatpants were still there, but instead of the plain black T-shirt he'd intended to wear with them, he had a white T-shirt from a Coldplay concert. It had "A Rush of Blood to the Head" written across the front. And it was a size larger than he normally wore. Henry had already escaped into the bathroom with his own bag, safe from Neal's complaints or attempts to search for his shirt.

Neal could either wear what was clearly Henry's shirt, or go shirtless. He considered the shirtless option a moment, but the Burkes kept their house cool at night. He pulled on the shirt Henry intended for him to wear, realizing that this additional manipulation indicated the experiment probably wasn't over yet.

###

Peter wanted to ask El for his watch, but she was already in bed. The book she'd been reading lay on the nightstand, and she seemed nearly asleep. She cracked open her eyes as he slid in next to her.

"Everything all right?" she asked.

"I hope so. Did you set the alarm?"

"All taken care of."

The alarm clock had been turned around slightly, and Peter couldn't read the time. But what difference did it make? He was exhausted. Obviously it was late. Soon he was deeply asleep, and dreaming.

He couldn't make out many details of the room in his dream. It seemed like a commercial space rather than a residence. All of his attention was focused on the floor. It was ugly, yellowish linoleum. And in the middle of that floor a broken boy lay in a pool of blood. Someone was drawing a chalk outline around the child.

"No! He isn't dead," Peter said.

But the person kept drawing. The chalk outline was halfway complete.

"Stop! You have to help him. He's still alive."

The chalk outline was seventy-five percent complete. When it was finished, the child would be beyond help.

Peter needed to convince the person to stop drawing. "Neal!" he yelled. If the child would open his eyes or say something in response, the outliner would stop. "Neal!" He wanted to reach out, pull the outliner away, and shake Neal into responding, but he couldn't move. All he could do was yell, "Neal!"

As the outline reached an inch away from completion, Peter sat up in bed, breathing hard. He was fairly sure that he had been yelling Neal's name out loud.

Confirming his suspicion, the bedroom door opened, letting in a ray of light from the hallway fixture. "He's here," said Winslow. He guided a bleary-eyed Neal into the room.

Peter jumped to his feet, rushed to the doorway and grabbed Neal by his shoulders. At some level he realized this Neal was an adult, but the tousled hair and big shirt made him seem younger, like the boy Peter had been helpless to save in his dream. He looked the kid up and down, checking for blood or any sign of injury. "You're okay," Peter said, and pulled the young man into a hug.

After a moment, Neal relaxed enough to pat Peter's back, and then pulled away. He rubbed his eyes, and didn't seem fully awake yet.

"Go back to bed," Winslow said softly, giving Neal a push back toward the guest room. Neal yawned and followed his cousin's instructions.

"Bad dream?" Winslow asked.

"You went into this intending to give me nightmares. I assumed it was Neal, but it was me all along."

"It could have gone either way, depending on your reactions earlier. What did you dream about?"

"That damn photo, of Neal lying in a pool of blood. I couldn't help him. I stood there, yelling at him to wake up before they declared him dead, but I couldn't do anything." He took another deep breath. "I've never been that rattled by a dream, and I've seen a lot as an agent."

"But not as a father. Your fear for him means you've truly started to think of him as a son. That's what I needed." Winslow turned around, and shut the door behind him.

What you needed? Maybe it was the late hour, and not being fully awake, but Peter didn't understand what Winslow meant. Peter turned around to face El, who was sitting up and watching him with questioning eyes. From this angle, he could see the clock. It showed the time as 12:30. Peter would have guessed it was later than that when he'd come upstairs. "Is the clock right?" he asked.

El glanced at it, and checked her watch. "Yes. Now tell me about that dream."

###

"That was weird," Neal said when Henry returned to the guest bedroom.

Henry sat on the floor. He'd insisted Neal take the bed, and he'd spread out a sleeping bag on the carpet. "Not really. That's what having a dad feels like when you're an adult. Awkward and embarrassing and comforting."

Neal had been sitting up in the bed, but he was exhausted. He slid down. "That's how you feel with Robert?"

"Hmm. Two out of three." Henry reached up to turn out the lights. "Don't worry. Peter meant it when he called you Son. It was real."

###

Peter always got up early, then either went into the office early or took care of things around the house. This morning when the alarm clock sounded, he got dressed for work, leaving the tie and suit jacket for later, and then checked on the occupants of the guest room.

Henry Winslow slept on the floor between the bed and the door, as if making a point that he was there to guard Neal.

"Rise and shine," Peter said as Satchmo slid into the room for his own check of their guests.

Henry stretched, and when a wet dog nose met his own nose, his eyes opened and he pushed the dog away. He sat up, stretched again and asked, "No more nightmares?"

"No. How about in here?"

"It was quiet. The experiment was a success."

Then from the bed they heard, "Stop it." They both turned their attention to Neal, afraid he was having a flashback. But then they heard, "Satchmo, that's gross," as Neal hid his face in the pillow to keep the dog from licking him. Peter couldn't help chuckling as he ordered Satchmo out of the room.

Now Neal stretched and slid out of bed. Yawning and tousle-haired, he mumbled, "Morning" as he grabbed his duffel bag and stumbled toward the bathroom.

Something was different about Neal this morning. Peter turned to ask his cousin if he'd noticed it, and then was distracted by Henry's expression. In all of their time together up until now, Henry had looked intense. He'd been in guardian mode, Peter realized. But now for the first time he simply looked happy. He was watching Neal with the fond exasperation of an older brother.

"Don't hog the bathroom, pretty boy!" Henry yelled. "The world won't stop if your hair isn't perfect. Leave a little hot water for the rest of us."

"Yeah, yeah. Heard it a thousand times before. And people ask why I don't want a roommate," Neal said before closing the bathroom door.

Peter leaned against the wall. "He's better today. I didn't realize how worn down he was getting, but the difference is obvious now."

Henry stood, placed his own bag on the bed, and pulled out a suit. "The short version is that Vance, as the first father figure Neal remembers, was the stuff of nightmares. With subsequent father figures, Neal recognized at some level that they were bad and built up his defenses against them. But you've knocked a lot of those defenses down, and that allowed the flashbacks to surface. You made him more vulnerable than he's been in a long time. What you did last night, calling him son and almost having a panic attack when you dreamed he was in danger, that gave him a new set of defenses. He trusts you're willing to protect him. So he felt safe and slept soundly for the first time in about a week, I'd guess."

"No more flashbacks? It's that easy?"

"Of course not. But we bought time. We should have weeks, even months, before they appear again. We can work on convincing him to talk to a professional, and find the right person to counsel him."

"Not you?" Peter asked.

"No. I'm not a clinical psychologist, and I'm too close to him to be his therapist." Henry sat on the edge of the bed. "But we can worry about that later. Enjoy today. For a little while, he's going to feel like a carefree kid, trusting that the adults in his life have all of the bad stuff handled. That can't last long. The adult burdens of the world will pierce that bubble soon enough. But this time around it won't be as bad, because he knows you're helping him carry the worst of his burdens." Henry paused a moment before asking, "Are we spending today in the van?"

Peter shook his head. "This isn't take-your-cousin-to-work day. We don't make a practice of bringing civilians into FBI operations. Especially civilians as shrouded in mystery as you still are."

"You could use it as an opportunity to learn more about me."

"I can run a background check whenever I want."

"But you haven't. I found that very interesting. Did Neal ask you not to?"

"He called the fact that I haven't done it yet a barometer of my trust in him."

"I like that. Fine. If you want to be left alone to bond over your new-found father-son relationship, be my guest. I'm sure you have lots of rampant emotions you both want to share and talk through while you're locked up alone in the van. Having a third party present would inhibit that."

"Umm." Peter imagined being alone with Neal all day in the van. They probably would feel pressure to talk about what had happened last night. He hated those kinds of talks. "You can go along to the van, but you aren't invited to the morning briefing. There's no way I could explain that to Hughes."

Henry grinned and bounced off the bed in eagerness for this new adventure. "This is going to be fun, Peter!"

"I doubt that. I will do everything in my power to make it not fun, to ensure you never want to tag along again." Peter tried to sound severe, but couldn't entirely erase the smile from his face. He couldn't help imagining what Henry and Neal must have been like when they met up a few years ago. All of that energy and exuberance. He had a feeling he was going to experience a taste of that, today. And he doubted he could keep that locked up in the van for very long.

A/N: Peter has transitioned from calling Henry "Winslow" to using his first name, because they are acknowledging their relationship to Neal binds them together. The honorary father and honorary brother have a common goal of looking out for Neal, even if they'll disagree about the best ways to do that. But they respect each other and will try to collaborate.