A/N: Hi friends! This chapter is longer than usual for y'all. I start university full time tomorrow so I will not be able to update as frequently as I had been, so I decided to give this chapter a bit more length, and I should have an update at least once a week. Neal seems to be heading the right direction, especially now that he's fighting for something he has experience with. Love to all, and of course, thank you for reading. 3

Chapter 6

"Don't you think that's just enabling him? Making him stay home? At least if he's at work you can keep an eye on him," El suggests over dinner. Peter shakes his head, gritting his teeth.

"I can't risk it, the stakes are too high. If there's even the slightest chance this will get in the way of his performance at work, I have to say no. He can't show up impaired."

El raises her eyebrows, looking back down at her plate. "Would Neal do that?"

"I don't think he would intentionally, but he's going down fast."

This confuses Elizabeth. The man of what seemed to be infinite poise, grace, and strength is crumbling. Was it all just a facade? She frowns, pushing the broccoli around on her plate, then looks back up at her husband. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Peter sighs, then reaches for her hand, holding it tight. "I don't know, El." She studies him for a moment, then smiles.

"I'll keep an eye on him while you're at work tomorrow." Peter nods. He's smiling too, but it's a sad smile.

"Thank you." He gives her a light smooch as he stands, cleaning up his plate, sneaking a bit of casserole to Satchmo as he passes. El stays where she is, deep in thought. When Peter returns from the kitchen, she looks up at him, her face concerned.

"Where is he right now?"

"Probably still at home. He wasn't doing too well when I left." Elizabeth's eyes widen.

"And you left him there like that?" He looks up at her.

"What was I supposed to do?"

"Stay with him? He's not rational right now."

"He's in trouble, but he's not an idiot." His thought is interrupted by a phone call, and he sighs, picking it up. "Yeah, Jones." El raises her eyes at this. Peter's face falls, and he squeezes his eyes shut, his free hand curling into a gripped fist. They exchange a few words, and he hangs up.

El just searches his eyes. "What is it?"

"NYPD has Neal. Public intoxication, they want me to come pick him up." He stands, pulling on his coat. "I need to go, hon. I'm sorry."

She nods, waving him off. "Go, go. Bring him back here when you're done." Peter nods, kissing her cheek before he breezes out the door.

El sighs, propping her elbow up on the table and resting her chin in her palm. Satchmo whines, and she looks over at him.

"You never gave me this much trouble when you were younger," she informs him. "Thank you."

Peter isn't one to get nervous, but he has no idea how to approach this situation. What is he supposed to say to the NYPD office? How is he going to explain this to Hughes? What is he going to do with Neal?

When he approaches the desk, the officer stands, already seeming to know who he's here for. "This way, Agent Burke."

"I'm sorry about this. I hope he didn't give you too much trouble."

The officer shakes his head, holding out a hand to show Peter the way. "Not at all, sir, he was very cooperative." Peter nods to him, and heads down the hall to a small waiting room. He sits for a moment, debating what to say to Caffrey, when an agent leads the young man into the room. He's stumbling, his hair is tangled, his clothes are wrinkled, and he almost looks like a different person. His eyes stay down, ashamed. Regretful.

The officer removes Neal's cuffs and Peter signs the release forms, immediately grabbing Neal by the arm and briskly walking him out, lips pursed, silent. Neal doesn't say a word, he just lets Peter lead him to the car. The drive is almost intolerably silent. After so much time together, they've learned to bounce witty and clever banter off each other so quickly it feels like a natural instinct, but the silence speaks volumes: their relationship isn't the same anymore. Neal's still drunk. Ridiculously drunk, but he's not aggressive or violent or loud. He's just sad. It's a sad, desperate, hopeless kind of drunk that you can only reach when you feel you don't have any options left. It's the satisfying kind of drunk that can only be reached with life-threatening amounts of toxins, the kind of drunk you can only reach when you just don't value your own life enough anymore, to the point where it really doesn't matter whether or not you'll wake up tomorrow. The harshest lesson Neal has ever learned is the terrifying reality that his actions are capable of ending a life. He's ashamed he can't muster up enough strength to keep his actions from ending his own. It takes him a while, but even in this fog he realizes they're not heading towards 86 Riverside. He doesn't look at Peter, but instead continues to stare out the window when he speaks, voice rough and slurred.

"Where're we going."

Peter looks out the window, and sighs, then looks back at Neal. "My house. I'm not leaving you alone for another second." Neal takes this in, then nods, looking down. He knows his right to challenge Peter has been revoked. They stop at a red light, and Peter just studies his CI. It strikes him when he realizes how young Neal looks in this moment. Vulnerable. Defenseless. Wounded. "What were you thinking?"

Neal just shakes his head, leaning back against the headrest, shutting his eyes. His head is pounding and he feels horrifically nauseous. Peter just looks at him again.

"Neal?" But he's asleep. Peter sighs, and finishes the rest of the drive trying to figure out what he's going to do with the closest thing to a son he's ever had.

When he pulls in, El is standing outside, arms crossed over her chest. She jogs over to the car, and Peter quickly brings a finger to his lips as he climbs out, warning her. She nods, carefully opening the car door and touching Neal's arm, gently easing him awake. It takes a moment, but he shifts in the seat, squinting as he adjusts to his new surroundings. Peter helps him inside and they get him on the couch, under a blanket. El brings him a bowl, 'just in case', and shuts off the lights, joining Peter in the kitchen.

She rubs his back, then sits next to him. "Are you okay, hon?" Peter just sits for a moment, not saying a word. After a while, he looks up at his wife, completely lost.

"I don't know what to do. They didn't cover this at Quantico."

She laughs lightly, putting a hand over his. "I married a smart man. You can figure this out."

He raises his eyebrows. "I've never dealt with anything like this before, El. This is uncharted territory. I don't know if I'm the right person to help him."

She smiles at him. "I think you're exactly the right person to help him. You're the only family he's got, really. He looks up to you. He trusts you. You can put this right."

He nods, looking over at the young man, so vulnerable and transparent in his sleep. Peter isn't sure he's ever seen Neal with his guard down before. Neal Caffrey is a man of walls, stories, and facades. He knows exactly how to read a situation, and adapts to it. He's always been able to handle anything that comes his way, but it's obvious he's never had to fight himself before. Neal has spent his life figuring people out: how to read them, what they want to hear, how to charm and manipulate them. But he never took the time to learn how to protect himself when the enemy he's facing is his own mind.

"He knows how to fight everyone except himself."

El shrugs. "Maybe that's what he needs. An outside opinion. Someone to hold a mirror up to him and show him the way."

Peter looks up. "The way to what?" His wife smiles, but it's sad. He sees it in her eyes.

"The way back? I think he's lost."

Peter looks over at Neal, and smiles when he sees Satchmo wander over to the younger man's prone figure, sniff around for a moment, and climb up onto the couch to curl up beside him.

"You think so?" El smiles again.

"I know so."

The next morning, Peter goes to say goodbye to El, and before he heads out the door, goes to say a few words to Neal, but the young man is still asleep.

Words can't explain how grateful Peter is for his wife in this moment. His beautiful, smart, kind wife who has put up with his work for a decade. She's happy to do it, Neal is like family and it hurts to see him hurt.

The morning is rough, but they get through it. Neal is miserably sick and can hardly keep any food down, and he keeps saying he's fine and he just wants to go home, but El knows him better than that.

After the worst of it has passed, they sit across from each other at the table, silent, Neal slowly sipping at a tall glass of water and doing his best to finish the sandwich Elizabeth has fixed for him. She studies him, arms folded on the table.

"Neal?"

He doesn't look up at her. "Yeah."

"It's going to be okay."

He nods, still not looking up. "I know." He shakes his head. "I hate intruding on you and Peter like this."

She reaches for his hand, willing him to look up, and he does. "You are not intruding. We're going to fix this."

He looks back down, smirking. "I don't need to be fixed."

She smiles, but it's sad. "I know, hon."

He looks up, determined. "I can help Peter with this case, I'm on to something. He needs to trust me."

She sighs. "He does trust you. He just doesn't want you to get hurt."

It takes a moment, but Neal nods, understanding. "I know." He pauses. "I owe him an apology."

She tilts her head. "What for?"

Neal shrugs. "For getting him involved in this mess."

El frowns. "Oh, hon, you're not a mess." He laughs lightly.

"Are you kidding?" He looks over his shoulder, and leans in slightly. "I know why the rehab shut down." She blinks, and sits up a little straighter.

"Would you like to share?"

He sips his water, licks his lips, and lowers his voice. "The financial advisor sent a report to Wilcox late last week, asking for permission to access a specific list of wealthy clients' deep histories. They've got everything on these people, and they're blackmailing them."

"With what information?"

"With their addictions. If they don't pay the blackmail, they'll publicize their files. These are people who's reputations depend on discretion, they're threatening to inform the public of their…situations."

El eyes widen, and she looks down, processing the information. She sighs, and looks up at him, concerned. "Are you sure?"

"That's where I went last night. They told me they weren't accepting new patients, I was drunk, they called security. They locked me down in a holding room, I saw what they were doing."

"And they thought you wouldn't remember." He smiles, and taps a finger to his head. She studies his eyes, a matching smile creeping onto her lips, but it quickly fades. "Have you told Peter this?"

"I… couldn't really articulate the information last night. I wanted to tell him this morning but I missed him."

El studies him for a moment. She trusts Neal, she's confident this is important to him, and she thinks he's capable. "Would you like me to drive you to the office?"

He raises his eyebrows, holding up his hands. "I'm not going to be blamed for getting you in trouble with Peter, I know you're under orders to keep me here."

She smiles. "I think Peter will understand."