When the blurry image of Peter Burke appears, floating in the foreground of his vision as if summoned into existence by sheer will alone, Neal feels justified in his acute paranoia. His instinct is to run, his mind screaming it in fact, but being barely able to keep his head up, by the time the idea enters there's already a warmth surrounding him, heavy on his shoulders, holding him in place.

"EMTs are here." Neal hears. Thinks, Jones.

He catches on to movement around him and tenses. The Peter apparition starts pushing him away, but real or not, he doesn't want him to let go and tells him so, or thinks he does-

Hands - strangers' hands - are suddenly on him, trying to take him away. Neal lashes out, clenched fists sailing towards his assailants, taking one out. Breathing heavy and quick there's no time to gloat. Someone shouts his name but it's too late. He throws himself off to the side, tries to scream a demand at them to leave him the hell alone! But his lips don't move. Tongue lolling in his mouth, refusing to form any understandable sound, Neal's left little recourse but to get as far away as he can.

Which, as it turns out, isn't very far. Back pressed up against the wall length window Peter easily catches him. Crouching in front of him, cool fingers reach out and caress his cheek.

Neal rears back on instinct.

"Peter." he tests, tone hard. Not yet willing to believe what his eyes are telling him.

"Neal, these guys just want to help you. Make sure you're alright." Peter tells him reasonably. "You're going to let them."

The threat in the terse, evenly spoken words is clear. This isn't about what he wants – it's never about what he wants. From the pain where finger nails suddenly cut through the thin cotton of his t-shirt sleeves, making crescent shapes in already tainted skin, Neal knows this is real. He's not an hallucination concocted by an over stimulated and traumatised mind. Peter is here, giving him orders and trying to control him like always.

"I want to go home." Neal hears himself demand, voice strong.

Those fingers digging into his arms slowly make their way to grip the back of his neck and coax him forward. He tries to resist, but Peter's familiar arms are already taking possession of his body and despite all the will in the world, he quickly melts into the contact, letting the slight side to side motion Peter's undertaken lull him towards sleep.

"He okay?"

Neal freezes at the unexpected voice. The rocking stops. Peter murmurs something in response. Tired eyes open a crack through curiosity alone and see, not the dull loft with the early morning view of Brooklyn, but a much more familiar vista, one normally seen from the 21st floor of the FBI building. Alarm travels his body like lightening, a sharp sizzle running through his veins and sparking in his brain.

Utterly mortified, Neal pulls away from the warm body nestling his. Heat instantly filling his cheeks as he turns wide eyes towards the outer office.

"Neal?"

Snapping his panicked gaze back around, Neal discovers Peter's no longer sitting in front of him. Instead he's standing at the end of the conference room table, hard gaze demanding an answer to a question Neal's sure was never asked. A quick assessment of himself reveals he's fully clothed, wearing his favourite blue suit. A blank notepad resting on the table before him. A warm hand squeezes his shoulder from behind. Startled Neal kicks away from the table, chair rolling back as he frantically seeks out the source.

"Wow, hey Caffrey, it's only me." Jones materialises at his side, hands held up in surrender.

"You okay?" Diana breaks from her bored lounging. "Maybe you should have a drink?"

She produces a tall glass of clear liquid, condensation run down the side, and slides it slowly across the table. The other agents, who he hadn't noticed in the room before, are all looking his way. Waiting with anticipation for him to accept. Stumbling Neal jumps to his feet and heads for the door, sparing no thought to where he's running, only listening to the voice in his head telling him togo… to run!

A persistent voice calls after him, shouting his name, over and over and over, but he keeps moving. Bare feet pounding far more stairs than he remembers being in the White Collar office, the lights flicker above him, off and on, off and on again, creating a strobing effect.

Neal, forcing calm by taking deep even breaths, makes it within feet of the glass double doors before being plunged into darkness.

…

"Neal? Neal!" Peter snaps his fingers in front of Neal's face, knocks fisted knuckles once, twice, three times against the cluttered desktop to regain his attention. "Hey! You listening?"

Neal gasps as if waking from a deep sleep - despite the fact his eyes have been open the entire time - and reels back suddenly, near tipping off his chair. Surprised, Peter remains seated and watches in helpless confusion as Neal's frantic gaze takes in his office, eyes wide and fearful, like he's seeing it all for the first time.

"What?" He wheezes and fidgets, blinking against the bright midday sun streaming through the windows.

Peter leans in, blocking out most of the light and covers Neal's trembling hand with his own. "Hey," he whispers softly, "you okay? You drifted off for a second."

Neal's response is to shiver, violently, sucking in air through his teeth. "I'm fine." He puffs out, despair clear in his too damp blue eyes. Eyes that after a few more blinks raise to meet his, "Peter?"

"I'm here." Peter nods, keeping himself stationary, halfway between sitting and standing, afraid any movement will incite a reaction in the kid he really doesn't want to deal with right now.

"What were you saying?" Neal slowly slides his hand out from under his and hides it with it's fellow in his lap.

Peter sits back and frowns, watching silently as Neal desperately tries to put himself back together. He's torn between letting him do whatever he needs to get through this, while at the same time being acutely aware bottling feelings up and pretending everything's fine always comes back to bite them both on the ass.

"You were telling me about what you remember." He says cryptically after a short pause, choosing not to challenge Neal's coping mechanism right now.

Coward. His inner voice yells at him. He ignores it.

"I …" Though he may have his breathing under control, Neal doesn't lose the wide-eyed look, the singular identifier is as far as he gets.

"You were telling me about waking up in the loft. Do you remember how you got there?" At Neal's quick head shake Peter continues, "what about who took you? Do you know how many of them there were?" Another shake, gaze averted. "Okay, so what's the last thing you do remember?"

He knows his words come out irritated, and regrets his choice the second Neal's gaze drops completely and finds a spot on the floor particularly interesting.

Sighing heavily, Peter clears his throat in apology. "How about we take a break?"

Neal surges to his feet before he finishes asking the question and heads for the door.

"Hey Caffrey," Jones catches him on his way out.

A clipped 'Hey' is all Peter hears in response as Neal, with no smile and no eye contact, storms down the stairs into the bullpen and doesn't stop until he reaches his desk by the doors.

"I take it things aren't going so well?" Jones addresses Peter, stepping fully into the room.

Peter harrumphs at that. "They could certainly be going better." And then side steps the unasked query into his own wellbeing seamlessly. "What's up?"

Jones pauses, gives him an assessing glance but smartly chooses not to comment. "We caught one of Benedict's men."

"Diana's trap worked?" Peter smiles wide, it's the first good news he's heard all morning.

"Yep. We leaked Caffrey's whereabouts at the hospital and Benedict sent his man just like we thought he would. Should have seen Diana take him down, that's one man that won't be running anywhere anytime soon I can tell you." Jones matches his knowing smile, like for like. "Ruiz took him to interrogation an hour ago… he's already agreed to flip on his boss for the extortion charges. They're getting a search warrant now, Carl Benedict should be in custody by the end of the day."

"What about the guys who took Neal?"

Jones steps further into the room, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the door is shut. "Our man in custody claims he had no part in Neal's kidnapping… and by all accounts neither did Benedict."

"I think the fact he showed up at the hospital suggests otherwise." Peter dismisses, recognising a desperate plea when he hears one.

Jones shifts uneasily. "He gave us a name, Gallagher, but apparently he's no longer a part of their operation."

"How convenient. And we're just accepting that?"

Jones looks at him seriously. "The deal Ruiz made in exchange for giving up Benedict includes no further questioning on Neal's kidnapping."

Peter stares at Jones. "I'm not resting until the bastard responsible is behind bars. I'll get a meeting with the judge before his arraignment, make sure any deal gives us what we need to take the bastards responsible down. I'll put in a call as soon as I'm done here."

Jones nods. "How's things going," he cocks his head to the side, "with the statement?"

Peter breathes out a long sigh, gaze contemplating the still blank notepad discarded on his desk. "Not good."

"And how were things last night?"

There's a pause like Peter doesn't quite know how to answer that. "Complicated," is the word he settles on, but Jones' responding frown prompts him to explain. "We didn't get a lot of sleep. Every time he closed his eyes… I don't know, nightmares I guess…"

"Well he has been through a pretty big trauma." Jones says, his words heavy but somehow keeping his tone light. "And … so have you."

Peter immediately refutes that, denying anything of the kind and suddenly becomes very interested in checking his email. "Neal will be fine, I'll make sure of it."

"I'm sure you will, but you need to be fine too and we both know you're not."

"We?"

"Diana spoke to Hughes. He said he didn't ask you to come in today." Jones takes a leaf out of his book and completely sidesteps the question.

"The man who had Neal is still out there." Peter points out, voice quivering at the very acknowledgment this is far from over.

"And we're handling that."

"Neal's statement will help."

"Yeah, it will. If it's accurate." Jones hardens his tone, looking Peter directly in the eye. "You know a coerced statement is always full of holes, plus it won't hold up if this gets to court."

"Really? That's what you think I'm doing?"

"Peter," Jones says his name and directs his attention to the young man right now sitting behind his desk, hands clasped tight in front of his face, staring absently across the office. "Just yesterday we rescued him from what the profilers call a sadistic serial killer; someone who spends his life planning how to torture and kill. And despite neither of you getting much sleep last night you've spent the better part of the morning pushing him to relive it. Can you honestly say you're doing what's best for either of you right now?"

….

Neal flees from Peter's office and travels quickly down the stairs, avoiding eye contact with the few agents milling around and drops behind his desk with a thump. Sitting staring at the file shelves opposite, legs jiggling up and down, heart trying to beat its way out of his chest, Neal presses clasped hands to his lips and fights to keep in the scream his body so desperately wants to release.

He doesn't know what's real and what's imagined anymore. Is the memory of Peter's arms around him, rocking him to sleep a memory or is it a fabricated desire? The feel of hands running over his bare skin, under his clothes and taking pleasure in his inability to move or fight back… the pain radiating from the back of his head, ache in his arms from being restrained – is any of that real? His exam by the nurse with the soft voice was most definitely real, even though it felt like a dream at the time. Then there's what happened this morning, when he woke up on the Burke's couch and not the guest bedroom where he's almost certain he fell to sleep after psyching himself up to go to bed alone and in the dark, like a big boy.

He remembers the way the early morning sun shone through the drapes, eyes feeling crusty and skin tight. Peter had been sat at the table and never said a word, just quietly drank his coffee, reading case files like it was any normal morning, all the while Elizabeth busily ran around him, grabbing her things together as if she was late for something…

A casually thrown 'have a good day hon' and she's out the door, leaving Neal, still in his nightclothes, lying horizontal on the couch and Peter looking worn in a way he's never seen before, dressed in his suit and tie, looking seconds from heading out the door himself.

"Should I get dressed too?" Neal hears himself ask, words hesitant and shy, not at all like his usual style.

Peter flinches, honest to god jumps in his chair, coffee sloshing over the side of the mug.

"You're awake." He says dumbly, settling back down and looking at Neal like he's just materialised in his house. "How you feeling?"

Neal thinks that over. Tests out his movements, rolling his shoulders and wiggling his toes before sitting up.

"Okay." He decides. "My mind certainly feels… clearer." He frowns. "Did-" He cuts himself off, not sure if he wants to know the answer or not. "Did they give me something? At the hospital?"

Peter looks blankly back at him for a second, thoughts directed inward, but Neal waits patiently because he's certain nothing good can come from pushing for his answer.

"They said you might be confused. Glad you're feeling better." He smiles, it's a Neal smile though – as fake as they come.

Neal doesn't call him on it or try and correct the 'feeling better' conclusion. He merely returns Peter's fake smile with a fake one of his own and excuses himself to get dressed.

They had arrived in the office around nine, stood around drinking coffee for the first half hour and aside from the welcome back smiles he received all in all, despite the initial awkwardness of the morning, it had been shaping up to be like any normal day. That was until Peter got him in his office, shut the door, handed him a fresh notepad and started asking questions about what happened Sunday morning when his anklet went off line.

"Sunday?" Neal had asked, utterly perplexed.

Sitting alone at his desk Neal runs through the rest of the conversation with Peter in his head. Recalling in particular detail the moment Peter's faced dropped upon learning the last memory Neal had was showing up for a meeting with his supposed mark on Saturday morning. With his own internal clock screwed by who knows how many drugs, because despite Peter's lack of response each and every time he's asked Neal's unfortunately had enough experience to know when he's been doped, the concept of time has been lost to him. From what he'd managed to piece together so far, Peter found him early yesterday morning and he spent most of Monday in the hospital, which only really leaves part of Saturday and all of Sunday completely unaccounted for.

Neal rolls the thought around his mind. Technically it's only one day, rounding down. So not a big deal, right? He's had concussions that lasted longer. Spent three days hiding in the cargo hold of a freighter trying to cross the border from Geno to Corsica. Forgetting one day? It's nothing.

His jiggling legs pick up the pace, double time. It's not nothing, and he berates himself for the stupidity of even trying to con himself into thinking it was. He can't stop thinking about all the terrible things that may have happened to him in that 'one day', what his dreams say happened but he can't remember with any clarity. Peter isn't a typical alpha male, he may not be the most eloquent and can be tactless at times but he does listen when it matters and Neal knows first hand, he gives the best hugs. So, it's not so farfetched to think that maybe, maybe if he was inconsolable to the point of exhaustion, Peter did rock him to sleep. Hopefully wasn't in the conference room though...

Neal frowns at the thought, gaze purposefully not looking at the offending room, but then where it allegedly happened isn't what has him all worked up. Embarrassment is minor, and for some reason - one he's never examined too closely - Neal feels completely safe being vulnerable in front of Peter. What's stressing him out right now is the reason he'd be inconsolable. He wasn't someone prone to bouts of tears – drugged up states not withstanding – admittedly he can get emotional like anyone, especially when caught off guard, but as a general rule he can hold himself together quite well. Again, Peter would be the exception to that rule. He can hold himself together brilliantly until Peter's there and then all those feelings he fights to keep down well up to the surface and want out. It's like he can only be brave long enough to fool everyone that's he's okay, but he can never fool Peter and so the damn always breaks eventually and ends with him in receipt of one of those aforementioned best hugs. There's just something about Peter that's sets him off and now he's so attuned to it, it no longer takes prolonged exposure to break him.

Argh, this is all so confusing! Why couldn't he just have straight up amnesia? Why? That would have made everyone's life so much easier.

Then again…maybe this is all in his head. His minds way of coping by filling the gaps left by whatever drug was pumped into him in that house. His sudden fear of the dark notwithstanding, there's no evidence to suggest anything he's 'remembered' is real.

He likes that idea.

His legs slow their erratic jumping and the tension in his arms eases. Memories' or imagination. He can't do anything to change it now. Its past. What matters is he's alive, back at White Collar, safely under Peter's watchful gaze where no one can hurt him. Unless-

"Grab your jacket."

Peter's voice derails his internal thoughts, a good thing too he thinks, based on where his mind was taking him.

Switching gears in an instant, slipping into his usual cool persona with practiced ease, Neal channels the resilience he'd been building and smiles brightly up at him. "You taking me for lunch?"

"Sure." Peter nods briskly, returning the smile.

Neal's cheeks drop, forehead crinkling. Peter being overly cheerful and willingly taking him to lunch is a cause for alarm on a good day. And today certainly isn't that, not by a long shot. So far today had been pretty goddam awful, but Neal as always was willing to power through, knowing the sooner they got it done with the sooner it could be forgotten.

Looking for clues as to what has Peter forcing levity now, he notices that he's holding his briefcase. "Are we done for the day?"

Peter follows his gaze and stares at the leather case dangling from his hand, as if just now realising it's there. "Sure, why not?"

Something suspicious is going on, but if following Peter's lead means not having to answer any more questions about his missing hours, he'll go with it. Neal grabs his jacket as ordered and rises to stand next to him. He sees the sideways glance Peter gives first Hughes up in his office, and then Jones by his desk a few rows along, but doesn't comment. Instead he waits until Peter is safely on the other side of the double glass doors before staring back at them himself, hoping to see if he can gain any insight into what's going on. But in the mere seconds he has both have their gazes averted and unlike Peter, Neal never pushes for answers he isn't sure he really wants, so let's it go for now and joins Peter at elevators.

…

Once outside, walking the busy streets of downtown Manhattan, Neal makes several aborted attempts to break the tense silence which has fallen over them since leaving the building. He's increasingly getting the impression he's in trouble for something, but for once has no idea what he could have done in such a short space of time to piss Peter off. Regardless he starts running through all potential reason's he may have earned a major Peter Burke telling-off and so loses track of where they're walking until a familiar building pops up right in front of them.

"Ah… Peter?" Neal draws himself to a dead stop, right there in the middle of the busy court house steps.

No one pays him much attention. The occasional head turns, likely curious as to his sudden statue-like pose, but that's it. The only person to really notice is the man he'd been walking side by side with, the one he'd been trying his best to keep up with until the swift chill of dread swept up his spine, freezing him to the spot.

They'd left Federal Plaza and crossed the street circumventing the Starbucks which Neal always avoided like the plague. He assumed after they continued to walk up Lafayette that they'd hang a left onto Worth Street, where Tribeca coffee lived – Neal loved their coffee - but clearly Peter had just kept on walking.

"You alright?"

Neal stares at Peter like he's crazy.

"Why are we here?" He demands, not even trying to keep the accusation out of his tone.

By here he means the heart of the New York criminal justice system. Where he's been trialled and sentenced -twice! He'd returned to this same court and been put before a judge on two further occasions since working with Peter, both times he'd been innocent and both times had resulted in his reincarceration. "I can give you my statement, I'll try harder, I promise I-"

Neal has plenty more to say to justify continuing his semi-freedom, but just can't get the words out fast enough. His throat feels like a golf ball is lodge in it, every swallow painful enough to induce a wince each time he tries to utter so much as a syllable.

"Hey, Neal. Neal, stop!" Hands grab his upper arms and pull him back down the steps over to the nearest building, giving them a modicum of privacy. "Calm down, we're not going to the court for you."

"We're not?" He cries out, managing to convey disbelief and relief all at once.

Peter gives him a look of pity. "No." He turns his gaze away, but not before Neal sees the disappointment in his eyes. "You really think I'd send you back to prison for not remembering what happened to you?"

Logically, Neal thinks no. But his situation made far from sense to him and frankly he's finding it hard to trust anything right now.

"You?" Neal shakes his head, still hyperventilating slightly and seriously struggling to stop. "But Hughes might not have a choice. It's happened before Peter."

It's not a con, or shouldn't need to be but Neal can't break a habit of a life time and puts everything he's got into ensuring Peter gets how very likely the scenario he's concocted could be.

It works, Peter's ironclad grip on his arm relaxes, he goes so far as to smooth down the rumpled material. "That maybe. But that's not what's happening now, I promise." He finishes with a squeeze to the back of his neck. "You hear me?"

Neal nods, satisfied with that answer, pleased Peter doesn't try and convince him it wouldn't ever be a possibility. "So why are we going? To the court?" He nudges his chin at the looming doors, feeling more than a little foolish for such an extreme reaction.

Peter looks away again, only this time instead of disappointment, its recrimination for himself Neal sees in his gaze. "Doesn't matter. I had something I needed to do quickly but it can wait."

"You don't have to because of me." Neal starts to protest, feeling his heart speed up again at the thought Peter would change his plans because of him.

"Yes, I do." Peter is firm. He starts them walking, back the way they came. "Come on, that overpriced coffee place you like so much is around the corner, we'll grab something to go and head home."

"Home?" Neal allows himself to be dragged along the sidewalk.

"Hughes has given us the afternoon off."

That wasn't really what he was asking.

"What about my statement?" Neal decides not to question Peter's use of the word home further.

Peter slows at his side to look at him. "You remember anything new?"

Neal thinks on what he knows, tries to focus on what he's sure is memory not fantasy and comes up lacking. "Nothing about who took me. Just flashes." Voice turning shy he decides to be completely honest for once and let Peter know not everything that went on yesterday is lost to him. "I remember being at the hospital and … some stuff at your house, I think."

Peter looks away, uncomfortable. "Then don't worry about it. With any luck we'll get these guys to squeal on each other."

"We?"

Peter blinks. "Jones and Diana have point, they're working with Ruiz' team." He takes a deep breath. "Speaking of Ruiz and his team…"

Neal hears the change of tone and doesn't like it one bit. He looks up, plastering on his best innocent expression as they turn the corner.

"Bancroft called Hughes after you went missing." Peter leaves a pause, baiting him, but Neal doesn't bite. "He likes you, was worried and wanted an update. He also happened to mention you'd called him the other week."

"He did?"

"He did."

They come to a stop outside Tribeca Coffee. Neal remains silent, knowing Peter is trying to get him to fill in the gaps by pretending he already knows everything. Which knowing Peter he probably does.

His silence doesn't deter him however, if anything it makes Peter more focused and they slip into their usual roles like clockwork.

"Let's grab lunch, we can talk more when we get home."

Home. There's that word again. But still Neal doesn't push. It's taking everything he has not to rise to the bait Peter's laying out for him as it is, his own curiosity and desperation to know bubbling under the surface, he could do without Peter's bubbling there too. Being in a public place certainly ensured basic social ground rules would be followed, so maybe now was the best time to push? Once home Peter would be leaving his FBI Agent persona at the door, turning on his pissed off Dad mode the second he crossed the threshold.

One look at Peter's superior grin kills any delusions of having control of this situation.

Pulling a smile out of somewhere, forcing as much lightness to his tone as he can Neal responds with a jaunty, "Sounds good" and walks through the coffee house door, the little bell signalling a new customer playing double duty today.

He's survived round one.

A/N: Thanks for reading and coming back every time I post! This chapter has been edited and rewritten to death - got to the point I just needed to post it already. Hope it all makes sense, see you next chapter! TTFN :)