A/N: Hallo! Been crazy busy with midterms but it's so hard for me to put this story down right now, I am just having so much fun. Please let me know what you think as we get close to the end. It'll be a fun one!

Chapter 20

"Unbelievable, Peter."

"Neal-"

"When was it decided that I'm just not to be trusted with information anymore?"

"Neal-"

"You took her in. You locked her up, and you didn't even tell me."

"Neal." Neal glances up at this. "I didn't want to worry you."

Neal pushes himself up from the chair, throwing up his hands as he paces. "I'm not a goddamn child, Peter, I can handle these things. You should have told me."

Peter sighs. "You're right."

When they took Sisley in, it was decided that, in Neal's best interest, they not inform him just yet, but Neal has his ways and he finds things out, even when he's locked up in here. He sighs. "Damn right, I'm right."

Peter smirks, looking down, before glancing back up at Neal. "How are you doing?"

Neal shrugs, taking his seat again and pushing up his sleeves. "I'm okay. Better."

Peter nods, keeping his eyes on Neal. There's a flicker of darkness in Neal's eyes that tells Peter his friend is lying to him. He hesitates, then goes along with it, tapping a few fingers against the table. "That's...good. Better, how?"

Neal hesitates, searching for the words. This place is good for him, despite his original caution. He's learned a lot about what's happened to him, and he's learned a lot about who he is and how he got this way. This doesn't change the fact that he's still struggling just to get through every second of every day. "Just…just figuring things out. Focused on figuring things out. It's helping."

"I'm glad to hear that." He pauses. "What are you guys up to today?"

Neal chuckles, drumming his fingers against the table. "Guest speaker in a few. I think we're going down to the park for baseball later." Peter grins at this, perking up.

"Baseball."

Neal snickers. "I figured you'd like that. You want to come?"

The agent glances around the room, then looks at his watch. "Am I allowed to come?"

Neal shrugs. "Why not. Jay brings his Dad all the time." Peter perks up at the mention of Neal's roommate.

"Yeah, I think I'll join you guys." He sits up a bit straighter, fixing his lapel. "Haven't been on the field in a while. As long as I take it easy on my shoulder."

"Yeah, take it easy, old man."

His boss laughs, leaning back in the chair, and studying Neal. After a moment, he leans forward again, lacing his fingers and pressing them against the table. "You look good, Neal." Neal quickly nods at this, looking down, uncomfortable. "You sound good. I'm glad you're here." Neal shrugs, looking down at his hands, and Peter sighs, leaning back again, before pushing himself up and going to give his friend a slap on the shoulder. "Proud of you, buddy."

Neal smirks, rolling his eyes, still not looking up at Peter. "Thanks." Peter nods, then shrugs his jacket forward, fixing his lapel again.

"I'll be back at 3:30. Get your game face on, I'll be taking you down."

Peter smirks and gives Neal another slap on the shoulder before heading out.

The young man watches after him, then looks back down at the table. Camille slides into the seat next to him. "Hey there." He glances over at her, then looks back down at his hands. "How's your day going, Neal?" She asks him this with a smile, urging him to reply. He sighs, leaning back in the chair.

"Good. Thanks." He isn't in the mood.

"How's your Dad?"

He glances up at this, confused, then remembers himself, smirking. "He's…" He hesitates. "He's good. He's just… frustrating."

"Family can be that way. Especially when they're people you spend every moment of your life with. Sometimes you feel like you need to get away from these people that are so often just like you. It's like you're on a leash."

Neal scoffs at this, glancing down at his pant leg covering his anklet. "You're telling me."

She studies him for a moment, then looks down. "Do you have a good relationship with him?"

Neal glances up, then looks at his hands. "Yeah, for the most part. He's a good man. He's helped me through a lot. He's always there when I need him. He tries to keep me out of trouble." He hesitates, then turns to her, explaining. "We don't always see eye to eye when it comes to how we want to get to our goals, but we always have the same end in sight. He's… He's probably the most influential person in my life."

She smiles at this, nodding as she looks down. "As he should be. It's a good thing you have his support in this. Few people do." He raises his eyebrows, nodding, before glancing over at her.

"You're right on that."

"Did he know you planned to come here?"

He hesitates, glancing out the window. "He asked me to come." He clenches his jaw for a moment, shaking his head once as he drops a fist on the table. "He was worried about me."

"Was he there often during your worst?" Neal nods, not looking up at her, gritting his teeth. "And you took his advice."

Neal shrugs. "I was completely out of control. I didn't have any other choice." He hesitates. "I was ready to just end all of it."

"You haven't talked to me about this."

"We're talking about it now."

"This was important for you to mention, Neal."

He nods. "I know." A slight hesitation, and then, "I felt like I didn't have any other option. I kept trying, and I kept failing." He glances up. "I don't fail. That's not who I am. This…this isn't me."

"Rock bottom."

He glances over at her, then nods. "Yeah."

She smiles, looking down for a moment, then stands, placing a hand on Neal's shoulder. "Keep climbing, okay?"

He doesn't say anything, but nods, looking back at the table.

Neal surveys the crowd after the lecture, before straightening his lapel and strolling towards the man who has just stepped off the lecture platform.

He extends a hand as he approaches, grinning. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Hanley, your speech was inspired."

The tall, broad-shouldered man turns when he hears Neal's voice, grinning when he sees the outstretched hand. He takes it and gives Neal a shake, shifting his weight.

"You can call me Charles. And I'd love to come back."

"We'd love it, too," Neal responds, meaning every word of it. Hanley's words reached into the depths of Neal's soul and awakened something he hadn't even realized was drifting away through all this madness: his confidence. Of course, Neal can always put on a show, but inside, he has lost who he is, he's no longer sure of himself. It may not show in his everyday actions, but it shows in how he presents himself to the people he loves. It shows in his views, and the words he says, and the way he looks at things. It shows- God, does it show- every time he poisons himself further trying to bury all of the things in himself that he needs to kill.

He and Hanley hit it off immediately. They're two of a kind, they fit, they connect. In a way, they are the same man. After briefly chatting about the speech, they decide to grab a cup of coffee in the lounge, talking at a pace that could go on for hours.

They almost run out of things to say, and they pause, when Hanley looks over at Neal. "So. Neal. What's your story?"

Neal hesitates, then scoffs, leaning forward on the couch as he sips his coffee. "My story… well there are a few different versions, depending on who you talk to."

"I'm talking to you," Hanley points out, voice even. Neal considers this, shrugging.

"You are," he nods, grinning. He glances over. "My story is that I take everything too far. And I didn't have anyone to show me how to handle things growing up. Bad things came my way, ran with the wrong crowd. Got in too deep."

"And what brought you here?"

Neal glances over at Hanley, then looks down again. "My…" He pauses to think about this, for a moment, before looking up at Hanley again, this time meeting his eyes, his voice confident and resolved. "My dad, actually. Asked that I come here."

"He wanted you to get help."

Neal nods, looking down at his hands. "He's been saving my skin since the moment I showed up in his life," he admits with a small grin, and Hanley chuckles.

"Good man."

"He is."

"And how much longer do you have here?"

Neal sighs, leaning back in the chair to think about it. "Two more weeks. Just over two weeks."

Hanley stands up upon hearing this, and extends a hand. "You'll do just fine, kid. You've got a great head on your shoulders. I look forward to seeing you at graduation."

Neal laughs, returning the handshake. "You and I, both."

And he almost means it.

They sit at the picnic table, both her hands in both of his. They don't look at each other when they speak.

"How long did they keep you for?"

"A day. Just lots of questioning." She sighs. "It was exhausting."

He looks up at this, face pained. "You're in this because of me and my mistakes."

She manages a weak smile. "I'd do it again if I had to." He smirks at this, glancing up at her.

"Nah."

She nods, and he smiles a bit wider, returning his focus to the table. "How are you, Neal?" she then asks, voice a few levels lower. He hesitates, and shrugs.

"Okay. Trying to handle it. Starting to get a little stir-crazy. Just want to get out and live my life."

"You will. As soon as you're done here." He nods.

"I know."

"It'll all be worth it."

"I know."

Neal looks down. This is awkward. This whole conversation is awkward. Where did their easy, comfortable banter go? Where did their connection go? What was different?

It takes a moment, but eventually it hits Neal, and he sits up straighter when he realizes this. They were good together when they were drunk.

Now they're not, and they're quickly realizing they have very little in common.

Neal hesitates, then glances up at her. "You've been staying clean?"

She sighs, giving him a weak smile. "Some days are better than others."

"So, not really."

She chuckles, shaking her head. "No, not really. Right now, though. I am."

He gives her a curt nod. "Good."

She nods as well, and after a moment, pulls her hands from his and places them back in her lap. "What are you going to do? When you're out of here?"

A lengthy sigh falls from Neal's lips and he leans back in the chair. He doesn't know what he's going to do. Camille recommended a sober living home, but that's not so much his style. Peter wants him to move in for a month after he's released, and then after that, he's free as a bird. Well, a bird with a two-mile tracking anklet. "I don't know."

"Are they preparing you? So you'll be ready?"

"Yeah, but this isn't even half the battle. It's what happens when I get back into the real world."

"You'll do just fine. That's what the preparation is for."

"I know." He pauses, then looks up at her, face pained. "I'm terrified."

"Of what?"

He shifts. "They can teach me everything they know. We can figure out how I got this way. It doesn't change the fact that when I'm out there, there's only one thing that really helps."

"Drinking," she confirms. He sighs, glancing down at his hands. "Neal, that's not living-"

"Like you can say anything on the subject?"

"Neal-"

"Otherwise, every day is a nightmare, right? I'm just fighting, all the goddamn time. I don't want to fight anymore."

"You're a fighter. You're better than this."

"Am I?"

"I know you are."

He releases a weak scoff. "I'm having trouble convincing myself that."

He wakes in a heated sweat.

He's not in his home. He's not in Peter's home. He's not in Kate's home.

Where the hell is he?

A hand finds his head, and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to relieve the pressure, looking around.

Oh.

He's at Applegate. He's in his room. He's in treatment.

Neal picks himself up off the ground- why the hell did he wake up on the floor?- and brushes off his pajama pants, glancing over at Jay, sleeping soundly. Neal sighs, wandering to the bathroom, resting his palms against the sink and leaning forward.

The nightmares had been getting better, a little, but since talking to Sisley, it's getting bad again. He's shaking all the time… not from withdrawals, he's past that. He's past the physical discomfort, the headaches, the nausea. It's the psychological hold this has on him, and that's probably worse than the physical pain. It's the anxiety. The anxious terror that he could choke at any moment. The horrifying fear that crawls through every inch of him. It's constant. He constantly feels like he's about to explode, and he doesn't know how to handle it. The shaking, the headache, the nervousness, the anxiousness; it's all come flooding back to him and he's only ever found one thing that can keep it at bay, but he can't have it here.

He's just counting down the days.

The knowledge that this is a bad thing, that that is how he views this; he knows it isn't good, but he's not sure anyone here understands. Obviously, on some level, they do, but this is a constant terror, feeling like someone is gripping his throat, swallowing him alive, peeling him apart from the inside out. He needs to wash it clean.

The cool water Neal splashes on his face barely provides a nanosecond of relief, before he's back to the way it was before. He lightly drops a fist to the porcelain, over and over and over again, before whirling around, wandering out to the lounge and collapsing on the couch, his head in his hands. With his elbows propped up on his knees, Neal cranes his neck to glance at his watch. 2:00 AM.

Neal sighs.

He sits there for a moment, just breathing; or at least, trying to breathe. His breath is unsteady, moving in and out in shaky, unsure bursts, and he squeezes his palms against his temple, gritting his teeth. His barefoot toes curl, and a low groan escapes him when he squeezes his eyes shut.

This is torturous. This is inhumane.

This is criminal.

A voice clears a throat behind him, and he doesn't look up, just maintaining his position, trying to steady himself and the nerves within him that are fraying and sparking.

"Neal?" Jay's smooth, relaxed voice immediately melts a tiny bit of the stress, but it's nowhere near enough. "Hey, man. What are you doing?" he asks, quiet, before crossing over to join him on the couch. Neal stays where he is, his voice shaking when he mutters.

"Just trying to relax."

Jay scoffs. "It's two in the morning, you should already be relaxed."

"I'm not. Are you?"

Jay scoffs again. "Naw. But I'm trying my damnedest while I'm here."

Neal finally glances over at this, then scoffs in agreement, looking back down. "I just need to get out of here, soon," he resolves, voice shaking.

Jay studies Neal when he hears this, shaking his head. "No way. No way, dude. You're not ready. You'd break the moment you got out of here."

Neal looks over at him. "Isn't that the point?"

Jay doesn't laugh at this, he just keeps his face straight. "Why are you here, man?"

Neal scoffs, shaking his head. "I have to be. Wasn't really my choice."

"This place is a blessing. Not everyone gets a chance like this. You're lucky. Don't abuse that."

Neal doesn't look up at this. What Jay doesn't get is that Neal abuses everything. He abuses his power; his charisma, his charm, his character. He abuses the people in his life, he uses them to his advantage. He abuses trust, the trust Peter has instilled in him. He abuses the opportunities he's been given to fix this. And he abuses himself, every time he falls off the wagon. Every time he needs it, one more night, one more time.

That's where his thought is flawed, he realizes. If he leaves here and immediately goes to feel good 'one last time'… well that's just the start of this all over again. There is no 'just one last time', not for people like him. There never will be.

And that makes Neal overwhelmingly sad. For a few reasons; mostly because he knows how lost he is, and how broken he is, and how he almost feels complete, when he's there. When he's drowned himself in whiskey and wine and is numb to everything, and when he can sleep through the night without the nightmares. When he can just forget about everything he's done and everyone he's hurt and all the things he's lost. When he can pretend, just for a few hours, that he's happy and nothing's wrong.

The other reason it makes him sad is because the only thing that can make him anywhere close to happy is a goddamn bottle, and no number of days locked in here will ever change that. He's flawed. He's scarred. He's damaged, and those damages aren't going anywhere anytime soon.

He's sure of it.