A/N: Hello there. Just wanted to take a quick moment to ask what you guys are thinking at this point, how you're feeling about it and where it's going. I really wanted to make sure I brought case elements into this story, and I'm having so much fun building my own case and thinking like a criminal and a crime-solver. I've also had a few people say they enjoy looking into the mind of the addict and it's helping them better understand this aspect of some people that very few ever shed proper light on. This is the greatest compliment in the world to me, I've been clean just over two years (10/17/2010!) and it was the hardest thing I've ever done, but also the greatest decision I ever made. I'm glad my love for writing is helping others, that's really the best compliment of all. I am so blessed and so thankful for all of you.

Chapter 14

Neal wakes before anyone else, bringing a hand to his pounding head, disoriented. He vaguely remembers it all, but distinctly remembers the pain in Peter's voice when he spoke. It was like the pain was a sentient being; it filled Neal up, replaced everything good inside of him. When Peter realized what was happening to his CI, the pain jumped train over to Peter, filling him up as well. It was contagious. That was the last thing Neal wanted, for his failures and shortcomings to affect Peter, but they had. The chip that Peter had placed in his hand has fallen from Neal's fingers during his sleep, and now lays on the floor. When he stands, he doesn't see it.

There's a gear in him, somewhere deep inside, always churning, always telling him to move, move, move, go, go, go. There's another cog somewhere in his machine that tells him he'll quit tomorrow. Just do it tomorrow. Wait till tomorrow. Because today, he needs this.

It's sprinkling rain, and he tilts his head down when he exits the front door, letting his hat shield him from the moisture as he carefully closes the Burke's door behind him. He's off the case. He knows this much, there's nothing he can do now. He'll probably go back to prison for blowing it, too. That's always how it happens. Something goes wrong in the White Collar Unit, Neal gets blamed.

Comes with the territory.

When he finds himself in front of the church again, he swears under his breath, bringing his shoulders forward to shield the rain. He jogs up the steps, exhaling deeply when he gets inside, feeling immediate relief from the warmth. It's relatively empty, there's not another meeting in here for an hour, but he notices a familiar figure sitting in a chair, her head bowed in silence. Carefully, quietly, he approaches, sitting next to her and studying her, not saying a word. After a moment, she looks up at him, and smiles sadly, looking back down.
"Hi, Neal." He raises his eyebrows, then nods to her.
"Sisley." He pauses. "What're you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same," she replies, and he lowers his head when he smells the alcohol on her breath. He shrugs.
"I needed a drink. I didn't know where else to go."
She scoffs. "I'm recklessly drunk, waiting for AA to start, at 11AM on a Saturday."
"Happened to me yesterday." He shakes his head, looking down. "I need to stop."
She sighs. "Me, too." After a pause, she glances over at him, a lopsided smile on her face, her words slipping together. "Wanna grab a drink?" Neal looks up at this. It's like he's in a nightmare, and this is what he needs to wake himself up: load up on poison, fall to the floor. The impact when he hits the floor is what wakes up out of the terrible dreams. Neal has a response locked, loaded, and shot in less than a second.
"Yes."

He stands, extending a hand to help her up, and she loops her arms through the window created by the bend of his elbow, holding him tight as he strolls with his hands tucked in his pockets.

+++++

The wine in the glass is swirling vigorously, threatening to jump the edges of the rim. The older male bartender stands off to the side of the bar, his palms pressed against the wood, fingers spread, eyeing them suspiciously, and all they can do in response is laugh over it; over their words, over the situation, over nothing at all.

It's not funny, not in the slightest, but if they don't laugh, they'll cry, and that's the point of all this. Numb it up so they don't have to feel the pain.

He thought he wanted to feel again. That's why he tried cleaning up in the first place. He tried, he really did, but when he tried it, it was all wrong. It wasn't what he wanted. It was too much. He almost felt more comfortable and at peace feeling nothing at all, regardless of how unnatural it was. He was dead already. When he brought himself to the edge, right up to the edge of the cliff, it was the only time he was reminded there was still a thread of life somewhere within him. It was like he needed to face death to acknowledge he wasn't quite there yet. That's just always been the way he works, though. An adrenaline junkie, even before he could walk, even when he was a kid.

When they stumble out of the bar an hour or two later they find the nearest place to sit, a bench at a nearby park. Neal sits up, and Sisley stretches out across the bench, her head in Neal's lap, looking up at him, still giggling. He smiles slightly, and brushes a bit of hair from her face. She squeezes her eyes shut in response, grimacing, and he blinks, straightening up a bit, concerned. "What happened?"

She squeezes her eyes a little tighter, then shifts so she's laying sideways, resting one hand on Neal's knee, and he reaches down and collects her hand in his own. Her other hand fishes through her small purse crumpled on the ground, and she pulls out a small and well-concealed bottle of whiskey. "You okay?" he tries again, and she swallows, suddenly swinging moods, sipping from it.
"I don't know. I don't know anymore."

He tilts his chin up to the sky, his eyelids drifting shut, her words searing through him. It takes a moment, but eventually he swallows, looking back down at her, and she rocks onto her back, staring at him as she passes him the bottle. It's quiet, and they just look at each other, but when he goes to take a pull himself, he has to look away. The moment is suspended in the air, and there are no words necessary for a long while. Eventually, Neal shuts his eyes again before speaking. "This wasn't what you wanted for yourself."

"Never. This isn't how I was supposed to be. This isn't how it was supposed to go."

Neal raises his eyebrows, nodding. "Amen to that."

"Is it ever going to get better?"

He looks down at her. "I couldn't tell you."

After a moment, she shifts herself up, sitting next to him and leaning her head on his shoulder, and he sips as he listens to her. "They keep telling me it'll get better. They say I have to keep trying, and I'll feel better, but I never do. I always feel worse. Every time I try, it gets worse and worse and there's nothing I can do to stop it. Except just continue what I'm doing. It's never-ending, and the horrifying part is, I don't want to stop, because I'm scared. I'm so terrified of facing the real world, that I just hole myself in, numb myself up, and lock myself down. People I love, people I care about, try to help me, but they can't…" She just trails off after this, shutting her eyes. She's drunk and she's rambling, but it all makes perfect sense to Neal.

He sighs, shifting slightly so she can nestle a little closer in the crook of his neck, and he passes her the bottle. "I know." There are no words, beyond this, until a thought strikes him. He straightens up, glancing over at her. "How do you know who I am," he asks her. Sisley is startled by this, and bites a lip, looking down. "I deserve to know. AA is supposed to be a safe place."

Her head finds its place tucked against his shoulder again, and she sighs. "I know. I'm sorry, but you have to understand, I can't. It's not safe for either of us."

"Whoever it is, we can take him down. I'm friends with some very important people-"

"I know who your friends are, Neal. He said you'd have friends in the police, they can't do anything-"

"I don't have friends in the police, I work with the FBI. Whatever this guy's doing, we can stop it. I can help you."

She's startled by this, and almost seems uncomfortable. "You work for the Bureau," she ventures, trailing off.

"With," he corrects, his head dipping slightly to the side when he does.

She mutters the words again, looking down, then lifts her eyes to meet Neal's. "Joe didn't mention that…" she mutters again, casting her eyes down, but he interjects.

"Joe…" he murmurs, then glances up."Do you work for Joseph Wilcox?" The fear that takes hold of her when Neal mentions his name is palpable, and she doesn't respond. "Sisley, is he blackmailing you? Why did he send you after me?"

She draws a deep, shaky breath. "Joe needs a fixer. He's heard you're the best, and liked you even more when you showed up at my AA group. He uses us, he uses it against us. He preys on our weaknesses…"

"He feeds it. He's making you sicker," just like he was doing to Neal, it dawns on him. He already knew Neal was an addict before he even met him. Neal leans forward, his head in his hands, trying to gather all of this information at once.

"Is the FBI investigating Joe?" Neal just nods, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to figure this out, but he's drunk and getting drunker, as it moves through him. It's doing exactly what he wanted it to: make everything stop, calm down the madness of his crowded and screaming mess of thoughts, but now he needs his mind and it's impaired. "Damn it," he murmurs, blinking a few times, trying to focus. His phone ringing brings him back to the moment, and he fumbles slightly when he picks it up.

"Peter-"

"I swear to God, Neal, if you're-"

He cuts him off, nodding, moving things along as he gestures with his hand. "Yeah, yeah, I'm drunk- listen, the woman who blew my cover. She works for Wilcox. She can help us."

This actually causes Peter to pause, despite his anger, and he exhales sharply through the phone. "Where are you."

"I'll come t'you. Are you at home?"

Peter's quiet for a moment. "Yes. Don't drive."

Neal hangs up, shoving his phone in his pocket before turning a bit to face Sisley, gathering both her hands in his. "I can fix this. Come with me."

She searches his eyes for a moment, unsure if she can trust him. After all of the deception and lies, she has trouble trusting anyone, but Neal knows how that feels. It takes a second, but she looks down and nods. "Okay."

In the cab, Neal is staring out the window, fingers laced in his lap, bouncing a knee. Sisley is curled up next to him, her head nestled against his shoulder, and she's quiet. He's taking deep breaths, trying to calm his nerves. The fog has lifted a bit, but it still consumes him, and he lets his eyes drift shut, trying to find balance in all of this. When they pull up in front of Peter's home, the agent is already standing outside, legs shoulder-width apart, arms crossed over his chest, lips pursed and brows furrowed. Neal climbs out, paying the driver and helping Sisley to her feet, letting her lean into him when she stumbles. When they approach Peter, he just stands there, surveying the two of them, and Neal doesn't know where to start. Sisley keeps her head down, both arms wrapped around one of Neal's, and he keeps his focus on Peter, the two men searching each other's eyes for some hint, some clue, as to what it was that broke their relationship. Which moment. Which incident.

The tension is broken when Elizabeth carefully opens the door, sees the scene, and sighs. She rubs Peter's back while speaking to Neal and Sisley. "Would you like to come inside?" she offers, and Neal glances over at her, then looks back at Peter, eyes boring into his mentor's own when he speaks.

"Thank you, Elizabeth."

They follow her in, but Peter just stays where he is for a moment, dropping his head and eventually following them inside.

They're all around the table, Neal and Sisley sipping from the glasses of water Elizabeth has placed for them. Peter still doesn't say a word, just staring at Neal, who drums his fingertips against the table, anxious. He's disheveled, clearly intoxicated, and looks emotionally and physically exhausted. The curls of dark hair on top of his head don't go where they should, and he keeps raking his fingers through it, trying to tame the tangles. His eyes are glazed over, and he keeps clearing his throat, trying to ease the nausea quickly replacing the comfortable numbness he had been experiencing.

Peter clears his throat. "Neal." Neal looks up at this, and Peter looks down for a moment, starting over. "Neal. What did you find out."

The younger man takes a deep breath, and motions to Sisley. "This is Sisley, Peter. She's in my group. She works for Wilcox." Peter shifts his gaze from Neal to Sisley, nodding to her.

"How do you know my partner's identity?" he inquires, all business, motioning to Neal. She hesitates, but Neal nods to her, signaling it's okay.

"I've been working for Joe for a little over a year. The dirty work he couldn't have an on-record employee do. I was in his treatment facility, and he said he wouldn't release my records to my family if I did what he told me, and paid the blackmail. Even if I got into treatment, they would never forgive me. They would never speak to me again. My father was the only one who knew. Wilcox keeps my secrets, and I keep him in information," she finishes, her words slurring, and she sighs.

"And you were sent to look into Neal."

She nods, looking down. "I didn't go after him at the group, that just happened on its own. I had already been looking for Neal, Wilcox wanted to hire him as a fixer, and when Wilcox found out Neal was in my group, he was even more interested. He'd much rather employ one of us than one of his own."

"By one of his own, you mean…." Peter questions, confused.

"Someone normal?" Peter looks down, and Neal keeps his eyes on him.

"He knows you're recovering. That's why he pressed the issue so much," Peter puts two and two together, glancing up at Neal. "He was trying to get to you."

Neal just nods at this, glancing back down again.

Peter shakes his head, scoffing, and looks up at Neal again. "I am so, so sorry we put you through that, Neal."

Neal's response is quiet. "You didn't know. You don't need to be sorry. I should have seen it coming."

Sisley looks over at him. "You've already met with him?"

Neal glances over at her, eyebrows raised slightly. "He hired me last week. Kept pressing the issue of drinking, said if I wanted to work with the big dogs, I needed to act like one."

Sisley chuckles. "He likes the 'big dogs' line."

A shake of Neal's head tells Peter what he already knows: Neal feels fooled, and he's ashamed.

"Neal. We'll talk about the case in a minute, but right now we need to talk about you. This has got to stop, for your own sake."

Neal swallows, keeping his head down, and he nods very slightly, his voice quiet. "I know."

Peter consciously has to keep himself from rolling his eyes, spreading his hands out over the table. "You keep saying that, Neal, and then this happens."

Neal finally looks up at this, and searches Peter's eyes, his face pained. "I can't."

"Of course you-"

Neal almost leaps up from his chair, he's so angry. "Don'tsay that. Don't you dare say that to me, you have no idea what kind of hell I'm living in. You think I'm having fun? You think I enjoy this, you think this is a game? I am miserable, every goddamn second of every goddamn day, Peter. You've got your home and your gorgeous wife and your dog and your job, and I have this. That's it. S'the only thing that's stuck with me, I can't…" He trails off and leans back in the chair. "I can't."

Peter draws in a sharp breath, studying Neal, who has looked away, avoiding Peter's eyes. "I'm sorry. You're right. I don't understand, but I'm really trying to. I've been trying to help you-"

"I know. Thank you," Neal cuts in, still not looking at Peter. Sisley is sitting next to Neal, her hands folded in her lap, quiet. Peter glances over to her.

"We're going to bring him down, okay? He won't do this to another soul."

She looks up, almost frightened. "You can't. If we expose Wilcox, we'll have to expose all of ourselves." She hesitates. "I love my family. They love me. They don't know, it's the only reason they speak to me. And the others, their lives, their families, their jobs, their reputations. It's all at risk."

"This isn't something to be ashamed of," Peter notes with concern.

"Unfortunately, not the whole world sees it that way, Peter," Neal informs him, his jaw tight.

Peter nods, glancing at Sisley. "Then we'll have to bring him down on something else. A man who can do things this heinous… this can't be his only crime."

Sisley thinks about this for a moment, then looks over at Neal. "I think I know what we can use." Neal glances up at this. "He's got another business, it's under the table, so he obviously doesn't want anyone knowing about it. He uses money from his charity to fund it. I don't know much about it, I just see the employee list. Just women."

"Human trafficking," Peter and Neal say simultaneously, looking up at each other. "Oh, this is good," Peter continues alone. "This is brilliant, you are brilliant!" he notes, ticking a finger towards Sisley. She smiles, looking down, and Neal looks over at her, taking her hand. She smiles a little wider, still looking down, and Elizabeth has to keep herself from awing at them.

"How are we going to do this? What do we need to do about George?" Neal considers.

"We need to take George out of the equation," Peter notes, frowning as he tries to figure this out.

"Who's George?" Sisley asks.

"Wilcox's new fixer," he murmurs, glancing at her sideways. He shrugs. "We could bring Arthur Fort in."

Peter scoffs. Arthur Fort, Pastry Baron of New York? Jones is good, but Peter highly doubts they could work with that alias to take down Wilcox.

"Diana plays a good hooker," Neal tries again, deadpan. Sisley gives him a sideways glance and he just shrugs.

Peter wags a finger. "That could work…" He looks up. "Who has access to information on the side business?"

Sisley searches the surface of the table, thinking. "His right hand, Jim Thompson. Handles all his numbers on the books, now I guess he's working on them off the books, too."

Peter flips open the case file to the page of the man they first spotted Wilcox with at the event. "James Thompson."

Sisley nods. "That's him."

Neal wears a slight smile, glancing over at Sisley. "Oh, this is good."

Peter nods vigorously, smiling. "This is very good. You see this? You working better now that you've had time to sober up."

Neal scoffs, looking down. "Peter, I'm still drunk as hell."

Peter just rolls his eyes, shaking his head, and Elizabeth looks down, trying to hide her small smile.

"Neal." The younger man looks up, and Peter slides the chip across the table's surface. "You can do this." Neal picks it up, inspecting it, and sighs.

"I know, Peter. I know I can." He hesitates. "I just really don't want to."

Peter looks down, wearing a faint, sad smile. "I know. But you will be so much better for it."

Elizabeth, who's maintained invisible for most of the conversation, nods.

Neal looks down for a moment, then up at Peter, his voice strong and resolute. "I know I will."

"Does that mean we'll try this again?"

Sisley glances over at him, squeezing his hand, and he looks up at Peter. "Yeah. Round two, here we go."

He flips the chip in the air like a coin before slipping it into his pocket, grinning at Peter, who simply chuckles in response.

"Alright. Let's do this."

When he says 'this', he means catch Wilcox, but he knows Neal needs to get his own problems figured out before he can focus on Wilcox. He's worried that Neal will get too invested in the case and won't be able to focus on himself, that's his biggest fear in all of this. When he glances up again to see Neal grinning over at Sisley, who has dared to lean over and plant a small kiss on Neal's cheek, he chuckles to himself. He knows Neal will be just fine.