A/N: Hello lovelies. I'm sorry it's been a bit of time, got crazy caught up with midterms and the like. This chapter is solid for me, it's emotional but it's solid. I've found the true tone and I know exactly where I'm going with it and how I'm going to get there. This story is so much fun and I'm so glad and grateful to see you all enjoying it, too. :)

Chapter 18

"When were you going to tell me?" Neal's pacing, and he's angry. He's gesturing wildly and the wine in his glass is sloshing around, threatening to jump ship. Sisley just sits on the sofa, watching him, her face carrying on odd mixture of sorrow, regret, and panic.

"Neal," she starts, but he cuts her off, stopping and staring down at her.

"Were you ever even going to tell me?"

She's quiet. "Of course I was going to." A slight hesitation. "It's not exactly the first thing I announce when I meet new people."

"That is so beside the point right now. This was important information for this case, and you told me you knew nothing about the side business. Now I'm finding out you're a part of it?"

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, looking down, and he just tosses up a hand, retrieving the bottle from the coffee table to refill his glass with shaking hands.

He shakes his head, sipping, then glances back down at her. "You worked for him. In the side business."

She nods, keeping her head down. "I ran the operation. Took care of the girls."

A weight is lifted off Neal's shoulders when he connects the dots; she's not an escort. He sighs, sinking down onto the lounge chair on the opposite side of the coffee table, slouching slightly as he slugs back his drink. At the end of his rope, Neal doesn't know how much more he can take. All he wants to do is run. She just studies him, and when he looks up and sees her looking at him, he sighs again. "Don't lie to me again." She nods, glancing down, and he shakes his head, leaning forward in the chair. "You know I have to tell Peter." She nods again, exhaling shakily, and he doesn't look at her when he drains the glass, grimacing. "You'll be considered an accomplice, if that's the position you held." Her eyes widen.

"He didn't give me a choice, Neal!"

For someone who's usually so composed, the immediate change that occurs in Neal's temperament when he drinks is incredible. He maintains himself well for the most part, but once he's set off, he flies into a rage that he doesn't even understand himself. He almost leaps out of the chair, straightening up, and his voice is low and it shakes with anger. "Those people needed help. They needed you to fight for them. You didn't. You kept your mouth shut. This could have closed the case, now it's hell frozen over!" he nearly shouts, and she sinks a bit into the sofa.

"Please don't yell."

"I'm not yelling." he yells back. This time it was definitely a yell. The only thing keeping him from wreaking havoc on his apartment right now is how drunk he is. If he stood, he'd be on the floor in seconds. He makes to reach for the bottle again, and she studies him, her voice small.

"Please don't. You're angry and irrational, and it's scaring me. You've had enough." He glances up at this, and he looks like a deer caught in headlights. This is the first time someone else has gotten hurt as a direct result of his inability to control himself, and he leans forward in the seat, scrubbing over his face with his hands. She continues to study him. "Neal?" He glances up again, and she's struck by how lost he looks. "Please don't do this anymore." His response to this is to immediately look away, focus on something else. He picks the skyline out the window, exhaling, his breath shaky. It takes him a moment, but he's finally able to form the words, quiet.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Just promise."

He looks down at this, shaking his head. "I can't."

"Why not?"

Neal finally brings his eyes up to meet Sisley's, and his voice cracks. "Because I'm tried of breaking promises."

Sisley knows Neal is more than capable, it's just that she's realized he's not ready. He's just not ready yet. She presses her lips together, and glances up when she sees him push himself up and out of the chair. He doesn't say anything, just cocks his head towards the bed, staring at the floor. She smiles weakly, and follows him, climbing into bed next to him, and settling in when she feels him wrap his arms around her, kissing her hair. He smells like an intoxicating mixture of a fresh body wash, that natural, amazing man scent, and bucket-loads of cheap wine, but she's comfortable exactly where she is.

Neal, on the other hand, is not. He's miserable. He's drunk, and was feeling pretty okay with it, until Sisley mentioned it. Now he's uncomfortable. He's anxious. He's aware of everything he does; every movement, every breath, every mistake. All he wants right now is a couple more just to knock him out, but she asked him not to. Neal's fingers tremble as he trails them over her arm, and he occasionally presses kisses to her hair, but other than that, they're still.

All he wants to do is run.

"Neal?" Peter knocks the next evening, balancing the gifts he bears in his arms. When it remains silent, he sighs, pushing on the door and fearing the worst.

"Neal!" He stands in the doorway, holding up his parcels. "I brought tea. And biscuits."

He doesn't hear a response, and he looks down and chuckles, crossing over to the table to set down the kettle. "I know, it was Elizabeth's idea. She wouldn't let me leave the house without them."

He stays looking down for a moment as his laughter dies out, then glances up, searching around. Where the hell is Neal?

Then, Peter sees him. The packet of biscuits- the one Elizabeth had shoved into his hands before he left- slips from his fingers. "Oh, my god…" he murmurs.

Slowly, very slowly, he crosses over to the glass doors, taking great care to open them as quietly as possible. He does the best he can to keep his voice even, but it trembles violently. "N- Neal," he quietly begins, raising an arm slightly by instinct, preparing to run to him if he needs to.

Neal doesn't turn, and Peter's stomach flips over when he sees the ends of Neal's jacket whip around violently in the wind. "Neal," he tries again, a little louder, but voice still shaking.

"Yeah," Neal barely calls back, voice flat.

Peter swallows, taking another step forward. "What…" He looks down, shaking his head. He blinks, hoping this is a sick dream. He takes a shaky inhale and looks back up to try again. "W- what are you…doing?"

Neal emits a light scoff, still not turning back. "W'does it…it look … like m'doing?"

Peter's heart skips a beat when he hears Neal's almost unintelligibly slurred words, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, stepping forward again. "It wouldn't kill you, the fall. It's not high enough."

"I know how t'do it so it works."

These words make Peter's heart pound. "Neal. Please…please come down here." He swallows. "Let's talk for a second."

Neal glances back, and Peter has to restrain himself from lunging forward the moment he sees his partner move a muscle. "We're talking right now," Neal says, wearing a lopsided grin. A small, quiet groan falls from Peter's throat, and he takes a careful step forward.

"F-face to face," Peter tries, shrugging. "Man to man."

Neal sighs, slouching a little bit when he looks down. "O-kay." He hops back onto the patio, shoving his hands in his pockets when he saunters over to Peter, grinning. "What d'you wanna say…" he starts. "…man?"

Peter gulps down his fear and panic for the moment, visibly relaxing, and he shuts his eyes, mumbling through his lips as though he feels queasy. "You…are on suspension. For a week. Under watch."

Neal drops his head down, sighing. "Peter…"

Peter just looks down, hands on his hips, shaking his head. He points to a chair, signaling for Neal to sit, and the younger man does, head in his hands. Peter pulls up a chair across from him. "I don't know what to say right now, Neal. I don't," he admits, defeated.

Neal sighs. "You don' have to say anything." Peter scoffs, incredulous, and shakes his head, glancing down.

After a time, he tries again, quiet. "Were you really going to do it?"

When Neal's head drops forward, and he searches the floor, Peter already knows the answer, shutting his eyes as he sinks a bit in the chair. He feels sick when he actually hears the response. "I was ready to."

Peter shakes his head, looking back up at his partner, who glances up in return. Peter just searches his eyes, trying to figure him out. "How much have you had to drink?"

Neal scoffs, leaning back in the chair and scrubbing his face with his hands, before leaning forward again. "Too much."

Peter sighs at this, glancing sideways at the end table, which is dressed with a large, mostly empty, bottle of whiskey. "This…" Peter shakes his head. "This isn't okay, Neal."

Neal faintly nods.

"This… you needed to say something. About this."

Neal sits back in the chair, crossing his arms, still searching the concrete for guidance or assistance.

"Neal?" The young man looks up, and Peter involuntarily takes a sharp breath inward when he sees Neal's face, carved from pain. "Why didn't you come to me?"

Neal looks down again, releasing a shaky exhale, then looks back up at Peter. "I didn't want to." Peter grimaces when he hears the pure, painful honesty in Neal's voice.

"Do you still want that?" Neal doesn't respond, and Peter shuts his eyes for a moment. "So why didn't you jump the moment you heard me?"

Neal looks up at this, and searches Peter's eyes. "Because I wouldn't want for you to see that."

Peter raises his eyebrows, nodding. "I appreciate that." He does, because it means he gets a few more minutes to talk to Neal, see if he can fix this.

Neal scoffs, looking down. "Why are you here?"

Peter frowns, glancing over at the kettle on the table inside, and the biscuits on the floor. He shrugs. "I brought tea and biscuits."

Neal lets out a small chuckle, looking out over the skyline. "And I appreciate that."

Peter smiles softly, nodding, his eyes searching the floor. After a moment, he sighs, pressing his palms to his knees to push himself up. "Come on, kiddo. You're coming home with me."

Neal glances up at this, raising his eyebrows. "You said you wouldn't call me that."

Peter shrugs. "You didn't do what I asked."

Neal considers this, then nods, standing, with some effort, and following Peter out the door, glancing back over his shoulder at the skyline one more time before he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

Neal is sitting on the sofa of the Burke's home, head in his hands, while Peter sits in the armchair, just studying him. Neal hears clattering steel in the kitchen, and glances over his shoulder at El. "Really? Stashing the knives?"

She stops, and looks up, shrugging. "I like you."

Peter chuckles at this, looking at his hands, and Neal reclines in the sofa, draping an arm over the back. "You're really gonna keep me here?"

Peter raises his eyebrows, glancing up at Neal. His face is stone, his voice no longer shaking, even though he still feels his insides twisting at the sight of Neal precariously perched on the edge of the roof. "Yes. I am. At least a month staying with us. Five days on watch."

Neal glances up at this. "Suicide watch," he says, confirming.

Peter shrugs. "I haven't given up on you yet, Neal."

Neal looks down, nodding, then looks back up at Peter, his face pained. "I have."

Peter shrugs. "Too bad. I haven't." A weak grin tugs at Neal's lips, and he exhales shakily.

"Okay." The vertebrae of his back collapse downward, stacking forward as he hunches over, closing himself in, his hands over his head. "Okay." Peter is quiet, just studying Neal. After a moment, the younger man looks up. "I'm sorry."

Peter nods, not looking up, and Neal raises his eyebrows, glancing down.

This hurts so much. He's never felt so empty. It's like his body climbed back onto the roof with Peter, but his soul jumped ship and splattered across the pavement. He's hollow.

"So am I," Peter murmurs after a while. He can't believe he didn't see this coming. He always viewed Neal as unbreakable. He didn't anticipate what would happen when the man actually broke.

El approaches the sofa from behind, wrapping her arms around Neal in a hug. "I'm glad you're here," she says, quiet, and Neal shuts his eyes, leaning back into El's hug. Peter looks down.

When Elizabeth finally straightens up, she goes to sit with Peter, studying Neal, who glances up, looking lost. "What now?"

Peter shrugs after a moment, settling back in the chair. "First things first, you'll see Elaine. And the doctor. See if we can figure out what's going on in that head of yours."

Neal scoffs at this. He knows what's going on in his head. He's lost his mind. He's fallen farther than he knew he was capable of. Once you start falling, there's no way to stop yourself until you hit the ground. He just wanted to hit the ground.

"That sounds about right," Neal says, sighing.

When Peter and Elizabeth retire to bed a few hours later, Neal finds himself alone again, feeling more alone than he's ever felt in his life. He leans forward on the sofa, head in his hands, taking deep, shaking breaths, and he thinks about what he's going to do now.

Now that he's not dead.

"Neal."

Neal sighs. "Elaine."

"I'm glad to see you." Neal leans back against the sofa, not looking up, and she shifts in her chair. "Do you what to tell me how you're feeling?"

He still doesn't look up. "How do you think I'm feeling?"

"I'd like it if you could tell me. In your own words."

He cocks his head to the side, voice deadpan. "I wanted to jump off the roof of my apartment."

"Why's that?"

"Because I don't want to live anymore."

She sighs, leaning back in her chair. "Do you know what reasons you have for feeling that way?"

He shakes his head, scoffing. "I'm not doing this right now."

She tilts her head. "When would be a better time?" He sighs, pushing himself up off the sofa and going to the door. She calls after him. "I'll be here when you're ready, Neal. Stay safe."

He ignores her, letting the door slam behind him on his way out. Peter sees him in the hall, holding up his hands to stop the younger man. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where do you think you're going?"

"Home," he mumbles. "I don't feel well."

Peter just stops, staring after him, then reaches for his phone in his coat pocket. "You'll go to my house. I'll have Elizabeth come get you."

Neal stops, and shakes his head, not turning around. "I can catch a cab. Don't bother Elizabeth."

Peter shrugs. "She's just down the street."

It takes Neal a moment, but he realizes, whirling around. "You had her on call." At this, Peter just maintains eye contact with Neal, and the younger man clenches his jaw. Peter just sighs, looking down.

"She can be here in a minute and a half. I'll wait with you downstairs."

Neal just nods after a moment, knowing he doesn't have any other choice, and wanders into the elevator, holding the door open for Peter to follow him in.

Once they get outside, Elizabeth is already waiting, her arms crossed and a grin on her face. Neal sighs, then steps up to El, turning back to face Peter. "Thanks," he murmurs, and Peter just nods, looking down.

When they slide into the car, Elizabeth keeps glancing over at Neal. "How are ya, hon?" Neal shakes his head, staring out the window. She sighs before starting again. "Have I told you how happy I am that you're here?"

He almost rolls his eyes, but he can't do that to El. He knows she means it. "Thanks," he mutters, still looking out the window.

When they arrive back at home, Elizabeth is sitting across the table from Neal, just studying him. He's looking down, drumming his fingers against the wood. She sighs, and he glances up.

"Hm."

A brief moment of hesitation passes while she prepares herself. "Neal…" she starts, then pauses again, not sure if she should venture here. "We don't want to lose you."

He raises his eyebrows in response to this, still looking down. "I know."

"Please don't leave us."

This causes him to look up, and he studies her pained face. "I'm not happy," he admits, and she sighs, glancing to the side before looking back up at him.

"I know. I won't pretend you are. And I won't pretend it will get better right this moment. Maybe not even soon. But I can say it will." He scoffs. "It really will, Neal. I promise. Your life has value. You're important, to a lot of people. Myself included. I don't…" she hesitates, swallowing. "I don't think Peter could live with himself if you did this. I don't know if he would be able to handle it. He cares about you, Neal. Very much."

He keeps his eyes down, giving her a brief nod. "I know."

"So why would you do this?"

Not a single logical answer comes to Neal's mind, but he knows he wants it more than anything. He shakes his head. "I couldn't tell you."

His phone rings, shaking him out of the fog, and he glances at it. Sisley.

"Hello?" he starts, and he hears her giggle over the line, her words slurred.

"Neal, come over, I have something for you!"

His eyes drift shut, and he tilts his chin upward, sighing. El raises her eyebrows. "You're drunk."

She goes on to tell him she is, in fact, drunk, and needs him to come join her. She's finally opened a bottle of the incredible wine Wilcox and Thompson paid her with and wants him to try it. She swears it's absolutely life-changing.

"I can't," he admits, voice flat. "I'm on house arrest." He glances up at El, who manages a weak smile. It's not so bad here with me, is it?

This causes Sisley to laugh again in disbelief. "Whaaaaaat?! W'did you do?"

He sighs, searching the ceiling. "I'll talk to you about it later. Call me when you're sober." He hangs up at this, letting the phone slip from his fingers and clatter to the table, and Elizabeth winces when she hears it begin buzzing again. He silences it, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands.

That night, they're all sitting around the table; Neal, Peter, and Elizabeth. Satchmo is sitting by Neal's feet, collecting the small portions Neal passes over to him.

They're quiet, until a knock on the front door startles them into speech.

"Are you expecting anyone?" El asks, glancing up at Peter, and he frowns, and shakes his head, pushing himself up to go to the door.

Neal just glances over his shoulder, looking to see who's there, and he hears quiet murmurs as Peter explains something to whoever is at the door. Neal sighs and looks back down when Peter leads Sisley in. She stands at the entry-way to the kitchen, just staring at Neal, who doesn't look at her. "Neal… I'm so sorry."

Neal just raises his eyebrows, glancing over at Peter. "You told her." Peter sits at his seat, not responding and going to pick up his fork and knife. Neal pushes himself out of the chair, leading Sisley to the living room, and they sit on the sofa together, Sisley gathering his hands in her own. "Why?" is all she can say, and Neal scoffs.

"Why do you think?"

She shakes her head, looking down. "Neal…Neal, I had no idea it was this bad."

He shrugs. "Now you know."

It was bad when he was ready to do it, he didn't think he could get any lower; but waking up alive was the worst thing he had ever experienced. His drunken attempt at taking his own life ended in him passing out on the Burke's sofa the moment they got inside. When he opened his eyes the next morning, the crushing reality that he still had his life came crashing down on him and knocked the wind out of him.

They stay there like that for a time, and when Peter and Elizabeth eventually move to the living room to head upstairs, they see that Neal and Sisley have fallen asleep on the sofa, curled up together. Sleep is an uncommon thing for people like them; natural sleep, anyway. Real, legitimate, organic sleep, not brought on by a pill or a bottle. It's hard to come by.

It's good for him. Neal has been through something incredibly traumatic, Peter isn't surprised his friend is beyond exhausted, so despite the unorthodox method, and the young woman he barely knows sleeping in his house, Peter lets it slide.

He smirks at them, before heading upstairs.