A/N: As promised, here is the second half of yesterday's update. I included the last few lines of that update first here, just to help with context and keeping track.

The response to this has been overwhelming. This kind of writing is my form of expression for my own demons, and when I utilize characters I love and sympathize with, it's helpful. I honestly wasn't even going to publish it, because I assumed people wouldn't enjoy the dark places my mind goes when it needs release, but the responses that I have received has been humbling, to say the least. Love you all.

CHAPTER 7, Part 2

"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.

He almost feels abandoned. One moment Peter was there, then he was gone. Finding Neal like that was a shock, he knows this, but for someone who is so interested in his personal life, why was Peter acting so cold? He says he wants to help, but leaves when Neal needs him most. Of course, this is what Neal gets for spending a lifetime pushing people away. He can handle himself.

He rakes a hand through his hair, then sinks into the sofa, studying his arm. The visible damage is minimal; it would appear as simple as a vaccination to the untrained eye. He shakes out his arm, and glances over at the bookshelf.

A book catches his eye. He moves to examine it closer: the spine reads, "Culture in the Age of Romance Along The Cote d'Azur". He retrieves the book, opens it, and leans against the edge of his bed, sipping at his water and feeling a slight shift in his soul.

In this moment, two things happen. The first, is Neal finds a brief moment of genuine happiness, something he hasn't felt in a very long time. The second, is the door swings open and someone storms into the apartment.

The noise shocks Neal, and he looks up from his book. Peter is standing there, taking heaving breaths. Everything about the way he looks, sounds, and holds himself is the complete polar opposite of the way things were when he left not 10 minutes ago.

"This is not okay," he spits, furious.

The young man blinks, then furrows his brow and frowns, placing the book on the bed and standing. "Back so soon?" he ventures, unsure why his mentor is huffing and puffing on his door after walking out on him.

"Don't get smart, Neal. This is going to get figured out right now." He motions to the couch. "Sit."

"Peter, what in-"

"SIDDOWN." Neal widens his eyes and plops down onto the sofa, raising his hands in defense.

"Easy, I just-"

Peter adjusts his trousers and pulls up a chair, sitting across from Neal, his voice determined. "What is going on here, Neal. Tell me."

Neal blinks at this. "Is that a joke? You tell me, Peter! You find me here, verbally abuse me, then just tell me to figure it the hell out on my own?"

Peter exhales sharply, looks like he's about to speak, then sighs, clenching his jaw and looking down. "You are absolutely infuriating sometimes, you know that?"

"Peter, what the hell is going on with you?"

The older man hesitates, then leans forward, elbows draped over his knees. "You scare the hell out of me like that, then just act like it's no big deal?"

"You acted like it wasn't a big deal, Peter! You walked out on me! Why didn't you call the police, Fed!?"

"Because if I had, you'd lose the opportunity to turn your life and around and fix this." He draws a deep breath. "Neal, if I had authorities here, they would have locked you away in a second. I can't pull rank on this one." He pauses, and looks down. "I know you're better than this. You've done a lot of things, Neal, but this isn't something you should be punished for. This doesn't make you a criminal. It makes you sick." His voice takes on a clipped tone on the last sentence, lacing his fingers together. "Do you want to be punished for this, or do you want help?"

Neal clenches his jaw, and looks down. "I'm sorry." Peter glares at him, pressing his lips together, then sits back in the chair. Neal takes a moment, then speaks, voice quiet. "It would have been easier for you to lock me up or cart me off to a treatment center."

Peter looks down, a small smirk on his face. "When have you ever been easy?" His tone sobers, and he looks up again. "It would have been easier for me. It wouldn't have done anything for you." Neal nods, looking at his hands. This whole thing is making him uncomfortable. Peter notices this, and tilts his head. "What?"

"You had every opportunity to turn me in and I betrayed your trust." Peter is struck by this, and nods.

"You did." He hesitates. "I don't fault you for that. I don't know what it's like to be where you are."

"I'll spoil it for you: it's not fun."

"I figured that." Peter glances around for a moment, then sighs, shifting in the chair. "I don't know how to help you, Neal."

"You don't have to. I'm not going to be your responsibility. The last thing I want to be is a burden." Peter narrows his eyes.

"Neal, you are always a burden." He pauses. "But you're easily the most rewarding burden I've ever hired."

Neal smiles slightly, looking down. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Of course you will." Peter smiles again, then studies Neal. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm doing alright. A little short on breath, a little dizzy. Nothing I can't handle." He shrugs. "It'll pass."

Peter doesn't know how to digest this information. For him, this was an incredibly traumatic experience. So traumatic, in fact, that he kind of just froze in the moment. Logic and rational thought were lost and he went into panic mode, unsure of how to deal with the most frightening and upsetting experience in his entire FBI career. He almost felt numb, and hardly remembers any of his actions or words towards the end of the event. He barely made it two steps outside, when the realization of what was happening hit him. That's when he whirled around and rushed back up the stairs.

It seems for Neal, however, that this was just routine. That's a scary thought in and of itself. And Neal doesn't bat an eyelash at an event like this.

"Neal?"

"Yeah."

"Don't take this the wrong way."

"What, Peter."

"Do you even want to recover?"

The question stuns Neal into silence for a moment. He honestly isn't sure. Of course he does. He wants his job back, he wants his life back. He's tired of taking every good relationship he's ever had and burning it to the ground.

But, at the same time, Neal feels hollowed out inside. And that feels worse than all of this.

"I don't know what I want."

"How can you not-"

"Just leave it alone."

Peter squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't understand this, Neal."

Neal cringes, and his voice is quiet. "I didn't ask for you to understand."

"Neal, I'm trying to help you-"

"So why did you leave!?" Neal nearly shouts. "Was that your idea of helping?"

Peter blinks, shocked. "I don't understand these things, Neal. I don't get this world, you're living in; I don't know how to navigate it."

"So you just left. You didn't know how to navigate me, so you decided to just not deal with it and act like this isn't happening?"

"NEAL." Peter shouts. He leans forward and rubs his palms over his knees, exhaling sharply. "This…this wasn't where I was going with this... I just don't know the right way to help you, Neal. This isn't my comfort zone-"

"You think working for the FBI is in my comfort zone?! It's hell for a man like me, Peter!"

Peter presses his lips together, and looks down, inhaling sharply. "Hell?"

Neal slumps back against the sofa. "I didn't mean-"

"Yeah, you did." Peter stands, surveying the apartment, then fixing his gaze on Neal, eyes dark and voice low. "I fear for your sanity, if you think working for the Bureau is more like hell than this…" He gestures around the room. "This miserable mess you've made of your life."

Neal blinks as he takes this in, but other than that, doesn't respond. He just looks straight ahead, lacing his fingers together.

Peter stares at Neal, trying to figure out what the man is thinking, but when he gets nothing, he spits this parting word. "I tried, to help you, Neal. But I can only bail you out so many times."

"Goodnight, Peter." Neal doesn't move when he states this, rather simply. It's his dismissal.

Peter narrows his eyes, then exhales sharply, slamming the door behind him when he breezes out the door.