A/N: This chapter was great fun to write, I really took the time to delve into the details of Neal's experience, as the last chapter was primarily set up for events in this and the next few chapters!

Chapter 12

"Is anyone new here today?"

Neal hesitates, then cautiously lifts a finger. Melissa, today's leader, gestures to him. "I'm…Nick. I came yesterday."

She smiles at this. "Welcome, Nick. We're glad you came back." He forces a smile, and sinks a little lower in his chair.

He doesn't say another word for most of the meeting, until they begin to discuss the moments they first thought they may have had a problem with alcohol. Sisley shares a heart-wrenching story about her father's funeral, and waking up in the bathtub, wrapped in his robe after the reception. It breaks his heart, and her absolute openness and everyone in the group's welcoming love encourages him. He holds up a finger, and inhales deeply when called on.

This isn't something he expected to ever actually participate in, and it almost feels like a de-personalized experience. It's like he's sitting on the other side of the room, watching these words just spill out of his own mouth.

"Every time I looked at her, it was like…it was like I could see the hope in her eyes. And the job, the job I had at the time…it was tough. I couldn't really talk about it, and it was so, so hard, to try to keep her safe, knowing most of it was completely out of my control. I like control, I need control," he explains, his fingers laced together in his lap as he leans forward, and several people nod at this. "It's how I'm wired. And every time I came home with bad news, that we were in a little deeper than we were the day before, it was like that hope kept fading with my every word. I was killing her, I was killing myself, with these risks I had to take. I just kept getting myself in deeper and deeper with the wrong kinds of people."

The pause he takes here holds weight, full of the regrets he's never let himself acknowledge. "She got hurt, because of my actions. That's when it started, really. Really. She was losing faith in me, I was losing faith in myself, and I didn't know how to deal with it." Neal lowers his head, pressing a palm to his temple. "This, these incidents kept happening, and I only had myself to blame, but I had dug a pit a million feet deep and it was too late to try to crawl out, I just had to keep digging deeper and deeper and hope I'd eventually break through and walk out the other side, unharmed. But it never happens that way, does it?"

A sad smile tugs on his lips, and he looks up again. "It never happens that way. And, eventually, when all of these things built up, and I had to admit defeat, it broke us. Both of us. I had ruined us, all of the big dreams and hopes we had for our lives, and she was only in the situation she was in because of me." The members of the group nod, and lean back in their chairs, but Neal hunches forward, closing himself in physically as he spills himself emotionally. "This isn't how it was supposed to be. This wasn't the way it was supposed to go, we had these plans. We were going to go to France, we were going to live these amazing lives, but we were stuck here. She was stuck here, with me. With all of her hopes and dreams shattered because of the trouble I got us into, and there I was, chasing all of it down with a bottle, not making anything better for either of us. Not being there for her, when she needed me, because I was too busy hiding from our problems and doing whatever I could to try to forget."

He pauses here, and shakes his head before sitting up a little taller. "Then, I got arrested, for some things I had done, and had to clean up in prison. But I lost her, she was gone. She said goodbye." He scoffs, but it's not humor, it's just painful regret. "Her parting gift was a bottle, an old empty bottle of expensive Bordeaux, we used to fill with cheap wine from the convenience store, just to pretend our lives weren't as miserable as they actually were. It's funny, that that's what she left me with."

A sharp exhale escapes his lips as he prepares himself for these parting words, shrugging before he starts. "It was better, in a way, that I was locked up. I had the opportunity to clean up, she had the opportunity to go find the life she deserved. When I was released, I found her, but immediately after…." He sighs. "I lost her again. For good. She's dead, she's not coming back." After a brief pause, he sums it all up, leaning forward again. "So it started again. That's how I wound up here."

The room is silent, almost eerily so, and Neal can't bring himself to look up and face the people he's confessed all of this to, even though he knows they sympathize. He doesn't even hear the remainder of the meeting, he's so caught up in his own thoughts and realizing he's finally admitted out loud what happened and how he got this way.

After their closing words, Neal stands, pulling his bag across his chest, hands shaking uncontrollably, both from the nerves, and the cravings, and several people come by to introduce themselves and thank him for sharing.

In return, he thanks them for sharing their stories, and that he's looking forward to tomorrow. He means it, too.

Melissa hands him his first chip, and he slips it into his pocket before turning to take his exit, but Sisley stops him. "Nick." He turns, and studies her. He doesn't wear any emotion because he doesn't feel any. Somehow, spilling all of this, it's numbed him. He's untouchable, which he would think would be a relief, but it just leaves him feeling emptier than before. "Thank you for sharing today. You're a brave man."

This couldn't be farther from the truth. He's a coward. All he does is run. "I don't know about that, I'm just trying to get through this. But thanks." He slips his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels.

She smiles. "One day at a time. I'll see you around, Neal." She breezes past him, and his breath hitches. He whirls around, calling after her.

"My name's Nick!"

She doesn't turn to look at him when she speaks, just continuing on her way out as she calls back. "No, it's not, Mr. Caffrey."

Right before she's out the door, he manages this. "We don't use last names here!" She stops, and glances over her shoulder, handing him a small smile before disappearing out the door.

The collar of his suit just won't sit right, and it's already frustrating him. That's Neal's natural state as of late, constantly frustrated. Things just don't go his way and they all bother him severely, no matter how trivial they are. He's still bothered by the events at the meeting today. Not only was sharing his story an extremely trying experience for him, he keeps coming back to his interaction with Sisley, turning it over and over in his brain, dissecting it, trying to figure out what happened, who she is, and how she knows who he is.

"Caffrey. You okay?" Jones asks, bringing him back to reality. Neal glances up, distracted.

"Yeah?" He shakes it out. "Yeah. I'm good." His reflection in the mirror distorts into faces of frustration as he messes with the collar. "Just trying to get this to look okay."

Jones snickers, and looks back at his papers at the desk, shaking his head. "You need to relax, man."

Peter walks in, taking the reigns. "Jones, settle down. Neal, you will be just fine." He reaches out and fixes the collar, smirking at Neal when he immediately gets it to sit straight. "We've got an hour and a half before we go in, do you want to go over anything before we do?"

Neal presses his lips together, shaking his head. "I've got this. I go in, give Wilcox the nod, let him know I'm his man."

"And how do you plan to do that?" Neal glances over his shoulder, flashing Peter a smile.

"By doing what I do best?"

"What, getting him into bed?" Jones calls over his shoulder, scoffing. Peter just narrows his eyes.

"Wha-" He just shakes his head. "No, stop that. How is that even an insult? Don't encourage him." Neal just snickers, looking down as he adjusts his cuffs. Peter pulls him aside, taking an entirely different tone, his voice low. "How are you doing, Neal? Really."

Neal shifts uncomfortably, glancing down the hall. "I'm great."

"What's going on?"

Neal shrugs in response. "Just had a tough time at the meeting today. Actually shared today."

Peter raises his eyebrows at this. "How did that go?"

"Better than I anticipated. For some stupid reason I thought everyone would immediately start judging me. I expected that as soon as I said I was an alcoholic they'd all spit out their coffee and shout cries of disapproval and moral outrage."

Peter just laughs, shaking his head. "You're all in the same boat, Neal." His hand drops on Neal's shoulder. "You're doing just fine. You've got this."

Neal smiles and gives him a wink. "You know I do."

When they approach the gates to the hall where the charity is to be held, they give each other a sideways glance, and Neal inhales sharply before they enter, willing himself to switch gears to adjust to the massive crowd. Turn on the charm.

"Boss, I've got eyes on Wilcox," Diana informs Peter through his earpiece. "West hall, by the door. We've identified the man he's with, one James Thompson. Got quite a rap sheet, in and out of prisons and rehabs most of his early adult life, now a successful financier."

Peter nods at all of this. "Great, thanks, Di." He takes a few paces to his right, peering in the door from a distance to get his own eyes on Wilcox. Neal raises his eyebrows, glancing around at the crowd. It's the first thing he always does on assignment: check for exits, see who he can talk to, find out who to avoid, and read the crowd. After taking a brief inventory of his surroundings, he rejoins Peter, standing behind his mentor and slipping his hands into his pockets. "Nice crowd," he murmurs behind Peter, and the older man just glances over his shoulder without fully turning his head.

"Catch anything good?"

Neal shakes his head, frowning. "Not yet. I need to watch Wilcox for a bit before I go in, get a good read of him." Peter just nods, motioning over to the bar, signaling to Neal where he'll be. Neal nods, keeping his eyes on Wilcox.

Several things about Joseph Wilcox jump out at him. The man stands up tall, he knows how to present himself. Neal almost feels challenged when he notices the man is also wearing a fedora hat, and he subconsciously adjusts his own, swallowing his anxiety. Wilcox keeps one arm resting on the piano he stands next to, the other steadily holding a tumbler of amber liquid, which Neal can say with pretty solid certainty is not ginger ale. When Thompson delivers his parting words and takes his exit, Neal takes his opportunity to cut in.

"Joseph. Joseph Wilcox?" he grins, extending a hand. Wilcox raises an eyebrow, suspicious, and reaches out to accept the handshake.

"I've been found out," he mutters, deadpan. "And who might you be?" Neal immediately adapts to his dry sense of humor, taking a slightly more serious tone.

"George Danvary, and very gracious to finally be meeting you, sir."

Wilcox raises both eyebrows at this, then shrugs, shifting his weight. "Nice to hear a few people still recognize me for my genius. What brings you to our event today?"

Neal has to stop himself from rolling his eyes at Wilcox's braggadocio, but maintains himself, tilting his head.

"Just an everyday member of society looking to provide support for those who need it. The ill of our city who are so often criminalized." He flashes a smile. "Trying to do my part to make the world a better place."

"If that's what you're after, there's something you should know right off the bat. This world is never going to be a better place, no matter how much money we throw at the problem. The people of this world don't care about change, they care about FEELING like they've made change. That's never going to happen with the way charitable support is currently operating."

At this, Neal shifts, considering. "I'll remember that. If I may ask, then, what are you doing here?"

"I like to do what I can, given the state of the situation," he explains, voice a little lower. Neal takes note of this, and glances around to see what may have spooked Wilcox.

He smirks, a light twinkle in his eye. "Glad to see we still have good people in this city."

Wilcox looks down and shares a small smile, raising his glass at this. "Amen to that. So. How can I help you today, Mr. Danvary?"

Neal considers, eyes darting left and right to check his perimeter. "I was going to ask you just that. Numbers are my game. I hear you're looking for a new player."

Wilcox shifts, lowering his voice further. "Where did you hear that?"

"Like I said, just looking to provide support for those who need it." He grins. "I'd like to be of help."

"How exactly do you plan to help me?"

"If you're looking for a new numbers guy, that leads me to believe you have a problem. I can make that problem disappear."

Wilcox takes a moment to check his surroundings, then leans in slightly. "How do you know you can help me?"

Neal wears the faintest hint of his signature cocky smirk. "Because I've been looking at your numbers for the past six months, I know exactly where your problem is, and I can get the people looking into you off your tail, because I've done it hundreds of times before."

"Prove it."

Neal leans in, confiding in Joseph with his voice low and sure. "Your financials don't add up for the year 2010. Several of your contract fees are missing in the public external audit, not just your year's expense report. Fifteen, would be the exact number. I can make that go away. All we need to do is fix the books so the charitable donations add up. Throw in a couple write-offs, designate a recipient, fix it in the histories. You're set." He leans back, returns himself to his casual lean against the piano, and flashes a grin. "Now how does that sound?"

Wilcox considers, then leans back, sighing. "That would sound wonderful, if you assumed my accounts were untraceable."

Neal keeps his face straight. "Why assume what I already know?"

Wilcox studies him for a moment, then leans back, a small smile on his lips. "You're smarter than that. Well, I like you, George Danvary. I look forward to working with you."

Neal rocks back slightly on his heels, grinning. "The feeling is mutual."

Wilcox chuckles at this, then glances at his drink, raising it. "Well, we should celebrate! What can I get you, what's your poison?"

Neal's face goes blank for a moment, and when he recovers, he plasters on a smile, holding up a hand. "Not while I'm on the job, but thank you."

Wilcox chuckles again, but this time it's tinged with condescension and a little bit of judgement. "George, you're on the job when I say you're on the job." He snaps a finger and a young man nearby rushes over holding a tray dressed in crystal tumblers, each with their own generous measure of Neal's preferred poison. Wilcox takes one and pushes it into Neal's raised hand. He smiles oddly, and speaks through his teeth. "I insist. If you want to work with the big dogs, you'll act like a big dog."

Neal swallows, and tries to steady his hand, which trembles slightly as it clutches the glass. He forces a smile, jaw clenched. "Of course." Wilcox's smile becomes genuine again, and he clinks his glass against Neal's.

"Cheers," Wilcox grunts, before lifting the glass to his lips, taking a generous sip. Neal mimics his actions, letting the cool liquid wash against and sting his lips, without parting them. He mimes a swallow and sucks at his teeth, grimacing. "Ah," exclaims Wilcox, shutting his eyes. "Only the finest at my events." The older man leans in, confiding in Neal a great secret. "That's what I call charitable support."

Neal forces a smile, then looks down, carefully sipping at the glass again, this time letting a small measure past his lips and wash through him when he swallows, panic creeping into his bones. He glances up at the right moment, and sees Peter at the other end of the hall, stopped in his tracks, just staring at Neal like a deer in the headlights.

"How is it, my friend?" Neal just raises his eyebrows, nodding, looking down at the glass, before taking another small sip.

"Is this a Glenturret?"

Wilcox beams at him. "'79." Neal frowns, impressed, and nods again, sipping a small measure and trying to keep himself in check. An audible sigh of relief almost escapes his lips when he sees Peter walking over.

"George! Been looking all over for you, how've you been, George?" Peter slaps him on the back, and Neal sputters slightly, regaining his composure after a moment, forcing a smile.

"Good, good. Dr. Tanenbaum, Mr. Joseph Wilcox. Dr. Tanenbaum is from an office I used to do work with."

Joseph leans back slightly, frowning and giving Peter the once over, extending a hand. "Good to meet you."

Peter nods, scanning Wilcox the same way. "You as well. Mind if I borrow Mr. Danvary?" He looks to Neal. "We've got far too much to catch up on to get it all done here!"

Neal just nods, looking down, swirling the liquid in his glass. Wilcox seems a little skeptical at first, then shifts, standing a little taller before he tips his hat to Neal. "Of course. I'll be in touch, George."

Neal shakes his hand with vigor, flashing him a smile. "Do that. We'll talk soon."

As soon as Neal has turned away from Wilcox and Peter places his hand on Neal's shoulder to begin walking him out, the smile fades and his eyes darken, exhaling sharply. Peter leans over to murmur quietly.

"How are you doing?"

Neal keeps his head down, shaking it lightly. "I need to get out of here."

Peter nods at this, frowning and looking straight ahead, pushing slightly as he stops where he is, urging Neal forward. "Diana is in the van, head there. She'll let me know when you're safe."

Neal just nods, shoving his hands in his pockets and not saying another word to Peter as he hastily makes his way to the van on the other side of the parking complex. A few raps on the door indicate his arrival, and Diana swings the door open for Neal. Once he climbs in, he immediately slumps into the first seat he sees, elbows up on the desk and head in his hands, breathing deeply through his nose. Diana just studies him.

"You alright, Caffrey?"

It takes a moment, but he eventually exhales a full, sharp breath, then shakes his head, looking up at her. "I am in way over my head with this one."