A/N: Hi friends, just a quick note- First, I've realized if I'm going to be posting less frequently, I need to work on length, so this is part 1 of 2 for chapter 7. Part 2 will be up either tonight or tomorrow. Secondly, this was a really hard chapter for me, both to write, and to muster up the strength to post. This is primarily because the events just hit so incredibly close to home for me, and figuring out how to take the story where it needs to go without letting my personal emotions get in the way was something I really struggled with. In addition, I also know this chapter is a very hard and upsetting read, as will be the next few, but as I know from my own history and experiences, very few people are ever ready to turn themselves around before they realize they are as low as they can possibly get.

Happier days will be here again, I promise. As always, thank you for reading.

CHAPTER 7, Part 1

The moment Peter glances up from his desk and sees Neal step out of the elevator with Elizabeth and starts towards his office, he puts down his papers and goes to meet them in the hallway before they can take another step, voice low.

"What is he doing here?" he demands to know. She smooths out a wrinkle in her dress, taking a deep breath to begin speaking, but Neal steps forward.

"Peter, it's on me. I asked her to bring me, there's something you need to know."

He explains the situation briefly in the hall, and they move to Peter's office to go over the details. Peter is sitting in his chair, holding two fingers to his temple, eyes shut as he processes the information.

"Wait, what does the rehab blackmailing patients have to do with the elderly pension fraud?" Neal shakes his head.

"I don't know, Peter, but we need to find out and stop this."

Peter nods. The information doesn't add up, there's a missing piece, and they need to find it. "How did you find all this out?"

Neal's voice is even and cool, nowhere near the shaky, tense tone it's possessed for the past few weeks. "I didn't break in, Peter, I swear. They asked me to leave, said they weren't accepting new patients, had me wait in an office and called the cops. They had archives, pages and pages of big names in New York, all paying blackmail to keep the fact they're in treatment out of the papers."

Peter is deep in thought. He's listening to his CI, but the possibility of this all being an alcohol-induced delusion of Neal's is very high: he's not stable and he's not rational.
How can he trust anything this man is saying when all of his information was acquired during what must have been a black-out drunk uptown adventure?

Peter props his elbows up on his desk, lacing his fingers together. "Neal, I know what you think you saw, but I really can't take your word when your information was gathered while intoxicated. It's not concrete proof."

Neal visibly tenses, clenching his jaw. A slight shakiness is creeping back into his voice. "I know what I saw, Peter. This is happening and it needs to be stopped. I know what you think of what's going on in my personal life but it has nothing to do with this investigation."

"It does when you try to do your work after drowning yourself in Tanduay rum!"

Neal cuts him off, slamming a palm against his desk. "Dammit, Peter, listen to me-"

"You want me to listen to you? Come back to me when you have proof of evidence and you can keep yourself straight longer than an hour."

The younger man stops, just staring at Peter, unsure if he should respond to this wildly offensive accusation. It stings because of the painful words Peter has spoken, but it also stings because Peter no longer has any faith in Neal. Their entire relationship was built on this odd, messed up bond of trust they shared, and now Neal is no longer a reliable source. He exhales sharply, keeping his cool as he just stands and breezes out of the office and past Elizabeth, who stares after him, then looks back to her husband as he wanders out of the office and watches after Neal.

"What happened?!"

"I was honest, he got defensive." El crosses her arms and gives him her usual knowing look, and Peter sighs. "Okay, okay, I was kind of…I don't know if 'mean' is the word…"

"Peter, he was trying to help!"

Peter knows he was trying to help, Neal is always trying to help. He means well but when Peter knows damn well Neal is struggling just to handle himself, how is he supposed to expect the young man to be able to handle the cases the FBI throws at him?

Neal is slammed with the biting cold when he walks out the door, but ignores it and begins to wander, blending into New York's busy streets. After spending some time with just the light snowfall and his own thoughts, he makes a few calls and scores close by, then heads home with his prize.

He wanted to stop. As soon as he found out about the horrific blackmail his fellow addicts were enduring, he swore he would stop. He swore he'd find a way, but Peter's words burrowed deep into his heart and were strangling him. He needed to cut the rope. He needed the release.

During his walk home, he feels his heart pounding faster and faster. He's shaking, he feels sick, and by the time he arrives at 87 Riverside, he's desperate. After a few years of experience, he had learned not to rush, to take his time and make sure he does it right, but he couldn't wait. He doesn't even bother to sit, leaning against the counter as he grabs the end of his belt between his teeth, pulling it tight around his arm and looking for the vein, still standing. This was his mistake.

The initial rush hits him without incident, and he feels his heartbeat immediately slow to a relaxed, softened pace. He closes his eyes and exhales a long sigh of incredible strength, and before he even notices his balance shifting, he crumples to the floor, knocking his head sharply against the counter when he falls. When his mind shuts off completely, he no longer even feels the sting of the painful words spoken to him by the person he admires and trusts most in his life.

At the office, Peter is trying to decide if he should take Neal's information seriously. He has Diana do some investigating, and when she informs him several hours later that Neal's information checks out, he sighs, and asks her to get him on the phone.

"He's not answering, Boss. I've tried him three times now." He stands, pulling on his coat.

"That's alright, Diana. I'm heading out now, I'll stop by June's on the way home."

After a quick conversation with Hughes about their newly acquired information on the rehab, he heads out, spending the entire drive trying to figure out how to apologize to Neal for the things he said. When Peter knocks, and Neal doesn't answer the door, he lets himself in to find the young man unconscious on the floor with a syringe by his side, and Peter suddenly finds himself unable to remember any of the words he had prepared.

"Oh, my God." He kneels by the crumpled figure, searching for a pulse and audibly sighing in relief when he finds it. The room is silent, and he's not even sure if Neal is still breathing. He tilts his head, listening close and just barely catching the quick, shallow breaths Neal takes. He pulls Neal's body into the recovery position, checking his airways and lightly shaking him.

As each minute passes, Peter gets more and more frantic.

How long has Neal been unconscious? How could he possibly be so stupid? How could he jeopardize his freedom, his relationships, everything he's worked for at the FBI, and his whole life, for this? And why wouldn't he ask for help? Peter had no idea, absolutely no idea it was this bad. He knew his young friend was struggling, and he wanted to help, but Neal is a conman, and he's very careful about who he lets in. Peter is in a panic, and he's about to give up on waking the young man himself and call an ambulance when Neal gasps awake, coughing sharply, struggling to breathe and feeling nauseous. After getting over the shock of the event and gathering his thoughts, Peter carefully sits him up and lets him recover while he discards anything incriminating. He doesn't speak, Neal doesn't speak.

Once he's cleaned up the incredibly shocking evidence that Neal is way farther gone that he could have possibly imagined, he just stands over his CI and studies him. Neal doesn't look at him, he's still processing what's happening, and that Peter is here, and now knows what he's been trying to keep quiet for so long. Once he's regained his breath, he speaks with a voice barely above a rough mutter, keeping his eyes down. "Peter-"

His mentor cuts him off, crossing his arms. "Don't start, Neal." He pauses, and takes a breath, his voice a little softer. "You could have died." Neal just nods, still not looking up. He knows. "You should have told me. We could have gotten you help."

"I don't need help," Neal snaps. "I just… I just need to figure some things out."

"Yeah, okay, that might have worked before, but this? Neal, I can't just let this slide."

Neal nods, raising his eyebrows as he looks down. "I know." He pauses. "Back to prison, then?"

Peter presses his lips together, then sighs, kneeling next to the younger man. "No. We'll get you help, and you'll return to work. In that order."

Neal blinks. "You don't have to do that."

"I don't think you're a bad guy, Neal."

He smirks. "Just misguided?"

Peter shrugs. "If you want to put it that way." He stands, and gets a glass from the cupboard, filling it with water and handing it to Neal.

Neal murmurs a quiet thanks, reaching up to wipe the thin layer of perspiration quickly forming at his hairline, beginning to feel the intense come-down. Peter sees this, and purses his lips. "Are you alright?" Neal just nods, resting his head against the cabinet drawers of the counter, shutting his eyes to at least somewhat relieve the dizziness. "Let me see your arm," Peter offers, reaching out, but Neal recoils, shaking his head. The older man stops, raises his eyebrows, then turns, pacing slowly. When he stops, he glances over. He's back in boss mode, and his voice holds an authoritative tone. "How long, Neal."

"It doesn't matter."

"Neal. How long."

The young man exhales sharply and looks down, licking his lips before he speaks. "A while. After the Powell case. First started at 27, but had to stop when I went to prison." He runs a hand through his unruly hair. "I was in a lot of pain, Peter."

Peter nods. This makes sense now. Why didn't he see it? There was an immediate change in Neal after the incident in Powell's office. A few months later, when Kate died, it was almost like a withdrawal. He isolated himself. Didn't engage in his normal ways. "And this was your answer?"

He squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his temple, grimacing."That's all you get from me, I'm not talking about this."

"Neal."

Neal shakes his head, looking down. "Please just stop, Peter. I'll quit."

"You expect that to be easy? That you can stop, just like that?"

Neal shrugs. "Did it before. Didn't have a problem with it."

"You just stopped."

"I wanted to."

"No, you had to. You went to prison."

"I think I'll be just fine."

"Neal, opiates have consequences. They have withdrawals."

"That's not the problem."

This puzzles Peter. Neal doesn't believe in problems. He believes in roadblocks, but not problems. If there's actually a problem here, and Neal's readily admitting it, Peter's worried. He crosses his arms. "So what's the problem, then? You can just stop shooting up whenever the hell you want, so what's the problem? Beautiful women?" Neal snickers. "Your need to go against anything anyone ever tells you to do?"

"Peter-"

"Fine wine?" When he doesn't hear a response, Peter glances over his shoulder to see Neal staring off into space, frowning. "Wait, really?"

"Forget it, Peter."

"I'm not going to forget it, Neal."

Neal smirks. "I know."

A small smile creeps onto Peter's face. "That is so classic Caffrey."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Peter forces a frown, trying to keep his face straight, but the mild, albeit darkly inappropriate humor of the situation keeps making his lips twitch upward. "You're just so nonchalant about it. 'Oh, okay, I was on heroin, but I'm just going to stop, I think. But I may need some help with-'"

Neal tosses up his hands. "Yeah, Peter, I get it. Wino. Lush. Let it out."

"Lush, let's go with lush. Suits you."

Neal looks down and smirks, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "You done?" Peter waves it away, still smiling, and Neal pushes himself up, approaching his handler, his voice even, arching an eyebrow at Peter. "Don't call me that." Peter immediately sobers, looking down and shoving his hands in his pockets. Neal sighs, and sips his water, turning and going back to the counter, facing the wall and leaning his elbows on the marble slab. "And please don't tell June." Peter nods, still looking down.

"I'm sorry, Neal." Neal just nods. "Look at me." The young man glances over his shoulder at Peter. "I will do whatever I can, to help you. Whatever you need."

Neal forces a weak smile. "Thank you."

Peter tilts his head, pressing his lips together. "You know this is going to be work. You're going to have difficulties. It'll be hard, but you have a support system. And you have to want it." He studies Neal, blinking when he doesn't react. "You do want it, right?"

Neal whirls around, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms, looking down. "I don't know what I want, Peter."

Peter sighs, looking down. He wonders if Neal knows how extremely difficult this is for him, too. As an FBI Agent, he has a lot of power. He also ultimately has the upper hand when it comes to Neal and Peter's relationship. If he wanted to, and he certainly wants to, he could demand that Neal get into an inpatient rehabilitation facility immediately, and not be permitted to leave until he was deemed recovered. He could also stick him right back in prison, if he refuses. But more than anything, Peter knows this isn't the way to handle the situation, especially when the situation involves Neal. It will be painful, it will be difficult, and it will be messy, but Peter knows the only way they'll get through this is in Neal's own time and way. It's just the way he works, and even if Neal did go to rehab now, his heart wouldn't be in it and as soon as he left he'd be a mess again. And Peter also knows Neal would never forgive him. Admittedly, Peter wouldn't forgive himself if anything happened to Neal. This is the only way.

"Okay. Well. You do what you need to do."

Neal raises an eyebrow. "You're not going to throw me in a rehab?"

"No, I'm not. This is something you have to work through. Call me when get clean, and we'll set up a meeting to evaluate if you're fit to return to work. Until then, you don't come into the office, and you don't work on any cases. Focus on yourself." This isn't the quickest way, Peter knows this won't guarantee Neal's immediate recovery, but he's confident that when it happens, it will be a genuine success. He knows damn well Neal cares too much about this job to let it go, and Peter truly believes that Neal wants it enough to quit. He also knows coddling the young man won't help, but God knows the next few days, weeks, or months without Neal helping on cases will be miserable, long, and exhausting. He pauses. "But I can't let the drugs go, Neal. That needs to stop. Right now." Neal looks down, bringing a hand to his temple, nodding. "I'm not going to force you to do anything, but if you do decide to seek help, or support, or some other option, you can come to us, and we have the resources to make that happen for you." He takes a breath. "Neal, I can't control what you do between now and when we meet. All I'll say is you will not be able to return to work if you cannot pass a comprehensive drug test and polygraph.

"Not alcohol testing?"

"Neal…" He hesitates, taking a moment. "We'll do that, too, but I don't expect this will be the last time you drink before you come back. I don't. But if I find out, and I will find out, that you continue to use drugs after we've had this talk, you will go back to prison. For a very long time." He pauses. "You take care of yourself." He brushes at his trousers, and pulls on his jacket. "Do you need anything, before I go?" Neal blinks, then just looks down, shaking his head. "You call me, if you need anything. Anytime." He moves towards the door, and Neal crosses towards the sofa.

"Peter." The Agent turns around upon hearing his name, glancing at Neal. "Thank you." Peter looks down, then just nods, before walking out the door.

Neal sinks to the sofa, head in his hands, with absolutely no idea of how he's going to get himself out of this one.