A/N: Hi friends! I just wanted to take a quick second to say thank you for the response and support I'm getting for 'Occupational Hazard'. This is my first story on , and I'm absolutely having a ball with it. Some have pointed out that the first chapter started strong but the second chapter was lacking, and I agree completely. It was a set up chapter and I'm currently in the process of moving on campus, but I feel I've got a better grip on where I'm going with it and I promise there's lots more in store. 3

Chapter 5:

"Peter, this is absolutely ridiculous. You know I'm always game for an undercover job, but this is a little…involved."

Neal's pacing. He's angry, and he wants to make sure Peter knows it. Peter just watches from his desk chair, eyebrows raised.

"It's just acting, Neal. That's not a problem….right?" It's a challenge, Neal knows it and Peter knows it.

Neal sighs. "Right. I just don't think it's a good fit in terms of characters I play. Can I pull it off?"

Peter raises his eyebrows. "You're doing a damn good job right now."

Neal tosses his hands up in exasperation, then scrubs them over his face, exhausted. "Peter, leave it alone. I'm not an alcoholic, and you're overreacting. Things have been going well for a while, and it's got you suspicious, I get that. But you need to trust me on this."

Diana knocks on the door, and Peter waves her in. "Bad news, Boss." She drops a file on his desk, standing behind him. "New Day Clinic isn't accepting new patients. They've locked down, something's got them spooked." Neal visibly relaxes, and a sigh of relief washes over him. Peter sees this, but doesn't acknowledge it.

"Great, just great. See, this? This is why I hate medical cases… it's like FBI means nothing to them."

"So no undercover job?" Neal ventures, adjusting his hat. Diana shakes her head, still looking at the papers on Peter's desk.

"We have to get to them somehow. Do we know anything about the employees of the facility?" Peter asks, eyeing Neal suspiciously.

"Master list is in the boardroom."

"Great. I want to talk to whoever's in charge of the facility. Not the whole charity, just…. whoever is actually running the facility itself."

Diana nods. "I'll set it up." She breezes past Neal on her way out, and Peter gives him a knowing look.

"You got off lucky," Peter murmurs, eyes locked on his computer monitor as he clicks around. Neal sighs, and sits in the chair across Peter.

"I appreciate your concern, Peter, but I'm fine. It's just a…"

"Rough patch?" Peter offers, but Neal shakes his head.

"No, stop. It's just something I'm trying to figure out myself."

Peter looks up at this. Something shifts in this moment and he realizes it's wrong to abuse his power like this and taunt Neal. He also realizes how serious this actually is. His voice is quiet. He's not mocking, he's not accusing, he's just asking. "So it is something, then."

Neal hesitates. "Yeah. Okay, yeah, it's something. I don't know what it is, but I'll get it figured out."

Peter just studies Neal for a moment. There's something in Neal's eyes, and Peter isn't sure what it is. It reminds him of the look he wore the day Kate died, but not quite. It's like Neal has lost something incredibly important to him and is desperately trying to get it back. This is what worries Peter more than anything. When Neal feels strongly about something, he loses all sense of logic and rationality, and becomes a different person. It works both for and against him: it means he is extremely dedicated to everything he does, but it can also bring him to his knees.

"Neal…" Peter starts, but when Neal brings his gaze up to meet Peter's, the older man stops. He hesitates, then starts again. "What's this about. Why are you doing this?"

Neal thinks about the question for a moment. He stands, and flips his hat before putting it on. "Because if I don't, Peter, I'll lose my mind." With that, he takes his exit, sauntering out of Peter's office, down the hall, into the elevator, and right out the front door. And Peter just watches after him.

Once at home, Neal just takes some time to think about the situation, over a few glasses of wine, of course. He's off the hook. Does that mean he gets a free pass? No, of course not. This isn't permission for him to continue on this self-destructive path he's on, but he knows if he stops now, he WILL lose his mind. He wasn't exaggerating. He's already halfway there, and that's what the drugs and booze are for: to silence the madness that is quickly taking him over. Peter needs to decide what he wants from Neal: he can have him constantly comfortably numb and impaired, or he can have him sober and absolutely bat-shit insane. There isn't really an option in between, anymore, and he's going to have to get a lot worse before he starts to get better.

He's absolutely exhausted. He sits on the couch, head in his hands, the warmth from the wine slowly spreading through him. He's sad. He's desperately, overwhelmingly sad, and all he wants is to stop feeling the pain and guilt that pulses through him every moment of every day. He's spent a good part of the last year and a half helping others, working for the good of the American people, solving crimes, but it doesn't change the fact that Kate is dead, Willow is dead, and both are his fault.

Later that night, he's still thinking about this when a knock on the door interrupts his thoughts. He stands, swaying slightly, a little drunk, and goes to the door, opening it a crack. His stomach flips and his heart sinks. "Peter."

Peter nods to him. "Neal. Can I come in?"

No point hiding out now. Neal motions for him to enter, then goes to the fridge, pulling out a beer for Peter and pouring himself another glass of wine. He joins Peter at the table. He doesn't speak. He just looks down, quiet, sipping slowly. Peter studies him.

"How are you?" Neal just nods in response, still not looking at Peter. Peter takes a moment, looking at his watch, then sipping his beer. "Can you look at me?" Neal looks up, his brain taking a moment to catch up with his eyes. Peter studies him, and realizes just how tired Neal looks: the blue shadows under his lower lashes, the pale face, the bloodshot eyes. He can tell his quick and cunning CI is impaired, but he doesn't mention that. "I'd like it if you could explain what's going on in that head of yours."

Neal doesn't want to talk. Peter wouldn't understand. Peter doesn't get it. Neal's done things, some horrible things, and he's not sure how much Peter knows, but he doesn't want to find out. He's finally found something that can quiet the voice in his head, tormenting him, and Peter wants to take that away. "What do you want to know," Neal asks, sipping, looking down again.

Peter shrugs. "What happened. Something changed. Why now?"

Neal searches the ceiling, then the floor, then his glass of wine. Anywhere but Peter's eyes. "I guess I broke."

Peter nods, taking this in. "This isn't like you, Neal."

Neal looks up at this. "What am I like?"

Peter is caught off guard. He thinks for a moment. "You're usually…relaxed. Controlled. At ease."

"And now I'm out of control?"

"I don't know if I would call it out of control, but you're not yourself. This isn't you."

Neal sighs. "I think it is, Peter. I think this is what happens when you live the life I've lived, then try to pretend none of it ever happened." His words are starting to slur, but this is pure truth. He's not usually this honest but alcohol does strange things to people. He couldn't stop now, even if he wanted to.

"I can't keep you on as a CI like this, you know."

"Like what?" Neal challenges. Come on, Peter. Say it.

"This…this situation, you've gotten yourself into."

Neal almost laughs. Calling it a 'situation' is a gross understatement. Neal's losing his mind and the only way he can deal with it is to drink it away. Wash it away through a needle, when he can. "Situation?" he asks, standing, a little uneasy, and going to the counter to open a new bottle of wine.

"Would you stop?" Peter interjects. "What I'm saying is important, I need you to be able to remember it in the morning." Neal pauses where he is, then hangs his head, palms pressed against the counter. Peter looks down. "This has to stop. You can't keep this up. Not while you're working for me."

Neal doesn't look up. "So maybe I don't want to work for you anymore." He's drunk, he doesn't mean it, but the words sear through Peter. He exhales a deep breath in a whoosh.

"Then, you go back to prison."

"Either way, I have to stop."

Peter nods, repeating. "Either way, you have to stop."

Neal finally turns around, returning to his chair. He stares at Peter, searching his eyes. He speaks with conviction, but his voice shakes slightly. He wouldn't ever admit it, but the reality of what he's about to say terrifies him. "What if I can't."

"Then we've got a bigger problem on our hands." Peter pauses, and studies Neal. The intense stare gets to Neal, and he looks down. Peter doesn't want to ask, but he has to. "Is that a possibility? Do you not think you can?" Neal quickly interrupts him, shaking his head.

"Of course I can." Peter's lips twitch, and he looks down, wearing a sad smile.

"Any time you want, right?" He stands, grabbing his coat, and pulling it on as he speaks. "Have a good night, Neal. Take care of yourself. Decide what you really want." Neal doesn't respond, but just keeps his head down, nodding. Peter takes one last look at him, standing in the doorway. "Neal?" The younger man looks up at him. "Don't come in tomorrow." It stings, but Neal nods, looking back down, and Peter walks out the door.