A/N: Hi guys. This chapter... it's a little scattered, because I'm a little scattered. But it's important for the story, only 2 or 3 chapters left now.

I've been kind of MIA, and I apologize. The honest truth, which I feel needs to be said because it's just the way I am and the way the program works, is that today is my brand new day. I hit up a meeting and will now be declaring 3/11/13 as my new sobriety date, due to mistakes I've made and for the sake of starting over. I'm so happy to be back in meetings, I'm so happy to be starting over, and I'm so happy to be alive and doing what I love most, writing. I love you all. Thank you for your continued support.

Chapter 21

"You gotta get me out of here."

"No way, man. This is good for you."

"I'm in prison."

"You've done it before, now suck it up."

"Mozz." Mozzie looks up and is struck when he sees how much pain Neal's face holds, his fingers laced around a cup of coffee as he drums his thumb against the table, bouncing a foot. Anxious. Mozzie sighs at this, leaning back.

"What, Neal."

"I need to get out of here. I'm losing my mind, you gotta help me."

Mozzie studies Neal, then looks down, shaking his head. "I can't do it. I'm sorry, man."

They're sitting in the lounge. Neal has just finished his one-on-one with Camille, who is starting to say she is getting concerned about Neal and is recommending he consider staying longer. Neal almost laughed when she said this, when he realized she was serious.

That would be hell. Absolute hell. They picked up some new evidence on Thompson, so for the moment Sisley has been released, and she's been visiting him, mentioning how much she can't wait until he's free. So they can return to their old ways together, pretending to be happy. The way things were.

He's getting ready to ask Sisley to sneak him out, or sneak something in. Something, anything to put him out of this misery. He knows she'd do it, and that fact alone sends a shiver through his bones.

"What are you thinking about?" Mozzie asks, suspicious. Neal just shakes his head, snapping back into it, and glances down at his phone when he responds.

"Nothing. Just zoning out." He says this as he presses 'send' on a text to Sisley: 'Save me.'

Mozzie continues to study him, not convinced, and Neal just shrugs. What?

When Mozzie's gone, Neal sits outside, picking at the flaking synthetic wood of the picnic table. He keeps glancing around, and when he hears the door to the building creak open, he looks over, sighing in relief when Sisley walks out. She's silent as she approaches him, and he stands when she's close, wrapping her up and giving her a long kiss, then just resting his forehead against hers.

"How are you?" she asks after a moment, quiet. He just shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I can't do this."

She nods, looking down. Something about her is different today. It's a resolved peace, but one she isn't looking forward to. It's a solemn acceptance. A sad anxiousness. It worries him. "I know." She then takes a seat next to him, taking his empty cup of coffee and pouring in the contents of a small bottle in her purse, replacing the lid and handing it over to him. He murmurs a quiet thanks, hands shaking as he lifts the cup to his lips, taking a long pull, his eyelids drifting shut. She then rests her head on his shoulder, shutting her eyes. He just sips, throwing all of the help and trust Peter has given him right out the window. And he's never felt better. But it's not real, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that.

It's been a few hours, and they're in his room, laying on his bed, both staring up at the ceiling. Neal has one arm crossed behind his head, the other wrapped under Sisley's shoulders, and she's curled against him. They're quiet. Neal's drunk, and doesn't have much to say, he just lets himself feel a little numb for a while. He's pretending he's somewhere else, anywhere but here.

She reaches over into her bag, refilling the coffee cup again, handing it over to Neal, and he casually sips at it, sighing in relief. His hands don't shake anymore, his body is numb and warm, and he isn't spending every moment thinking up new ways to kill himself.

After some time, though, there's a tension that wasn't there before. Neal is relaxed, eyes lightly shut in his comfortable numbness, but Sisley is clearly anxious. She keeps shifting next to him, and her breathing is unsteady. He glances over at her.

"Are you okay?"

She hesitates, biting a lip, then smiles over at him, but it's weak. "Yeah, I'm fine."

He tilts his chin down, searching her eyes. "Don't lie to me."

"It's fine, Neal." She presses a quick kiss to his lips for reassurance. "Really."

He sighs, letting his head fall back against the pillow, and holds out a hand. She sighs, too, and just picks up the bottle, handing it to him. He takes a swig straight from it, ignoring the coffee cup, exhaling sharply when he finishes. He knows he shouldn't, he knows it's an awful idea, but if he drinks enough, he can forget about that.

He almost does, but a voice at the door pulls him out of the comfortable denial. "You have got to be kidding me."

Shit.

Peter is standing at the door with Elizabeth, accompanied by Diana and Jones, who stand there with their arms crossed. Neal swears under his breath, sitting himself up and handing the bottle to Sisley, who keeps her eyes down.

Peter keeps his eyes locked on Neal, and sighs, rolling back his shoulders before he nods over to Diana, who breezes in, guiding Sisley from the bed and slapping cuffs on her, her clipped voice giving Sisley her rights. Neal sits up a little straighter, eyes wide. "What the hell, Peter?"

Peter ignores Neal, looking over to Sisley. "Sisley Stewart, you are under arrest for the murder of James Wilcox." Neal jumps from the bed to go to Sisley, but Diana leads her out of the room. Sisley glances back at Neal, mouthing these words for him. I'm sorry.

He sinks back into his seated position on the bed, searching the floor. "What is going on, Peter?" he finally asks quietly, looking up at his mentor. Peter sighs.

"We received a postcard from her this morning. A full confession. She said she didn't want to run anymore." Neal scoffs at this after a moment, then just settles his head in his hands, his fingers bunching around his hair. "Are you okay?" Peter asks, quiet.

"She killed him," is all Neal has at the moment. Peter just nods. Neal scoffs again, rocking slightly, his voice cracking. "Oh, my God."

Peter crosses his arms, studying the young man, frustrated by how easy it was for him to get this intoxicated, even in the confines of Applegate. "How long has she been doing this for you?"

"That was the first time," he admits, glancing down at his laced fingers.

"And you expect me to believe that?"

"Why would I lie, Peter. It's not like it's going to change how disappointed you are, whether this is the first or fifth time."

Peter nods, looking down, then sighs. "Are you gonna be alright?" Neal nods, wincing and exhaling sharply. Peter glances up, squeezing Neal's shoulder. "We're not giving up on you, Neal."

Neal squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn't want to try anymore. He's tired, he's so, so tired, and he can't do this, no matter how hard he tries. The selfish part of him that just wants to feed this flame is beginning to resent Peter for all of his love and good intention.

The majority of him, though, the kind-hearted man with a greyscale view of the rules, hates this. Hates disappointing Peter, and wants nothing more than to take this all back, right now.

But he can't.

"What now?"

"We'll talk to Camille, and talk about looking at some other options, since this clearly wasn't enough for you." Neal sighs, looking at his hands, and reaching over for his cup of 'coffee', taking a swig. Peter glances over. "That better be coffee."

Neal just nods as he continues to take pulls from the cup, and Peter reaches over and snatches it from his hand, opening the cap and peering in. Neal has turned and stretched out on his back, arms crossed behind his head, squeezing his eyes shut. Peter inhales sharply when he sees the amber liquid inside, and he tosses the cup to the floor, a guttural noise of frustration rising up from his throat. Elizabeth winces when the cup hits the ground and the whiskey pools out onto the floor.

"What the hell happened, Neal? When did you stop caring? When did you decide you were going to throw everything away? This isn't you." Neal keeps his eyes squeezed shut, clenching his jaw. "Do you ever think about where you'll be in a year, in five, if you keep this up? Everyone you love will leave, Neal. I only have so much goddamn patience. You'll lose everything you have. You'll blow your whole life trying to keep up your goddamn habit and you'll lose everything. I hope it's worth it."

Neal doesn't speak, just winces as his fingers tremble in the rage he feels as Peter speaks to him this way, but the shaking starts to fade as the whiskey pulses through him. God, he wants the cup back. He peers over to the spilled mess on the floor, swearing under his breath. Peter groans, and El's soft voice breaks through the silence in a moment. "Peter, can I talk to him for a minute?"

"What are you gonna say, El."

"Just let me talk to him."

Peter sighs, storming out the door, cracking his knuckles. El sits at the edge of Neal's bed, not saying anything for a moment.

"You know… you deserve better than this." She hesitates, then begins again. "You are such a smart, kind, good man. You deserve to live, not just survive." He nods faintly, staring straight ahead. "You can't be happy like this."

He scoffs. "Understatement of the year."

She blinks, looking down. "So let us help you."

He shifts, then glances over at her. "You tried. It's fine."

"We'll keep trying. We don't mind, if you don't mind. You have nothing left to lose, Neal." He squeezes his eyes shut at this, bringing a few fingers to his temple, and he inhales sharply. "You don't want to do this anymore. I know you don't." He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, shaking his head.

"No," is all he manages, his voice barely audible and cracking when he speaks. She nods. He grimaces, and opens his eyes, blinking a few times as tears start to well up in them. "God, no. I can't." She nods again, looking down, and squeezing his shoulder again. He looks over at her, his face pained. "I'm just…I'm tired, El." She looks up at this, and is struck by the deep, pulsing pain in his eyes. She exhales a shaky breath, looking down.

"I know, hon. You'll be okay. You're an incredible man, you've pulled through before. You know you deserve better than this, let's make that happen."

It takes him a moment, but he nods, keeping his head down. "Yeah. Okay."

"Stay here, okay? I'll be right back."

Neal just nods, holding his head in his hands, exhaling shakily as El wanders out to talk to Peter. He hears murmuring voices, but can't make out the words. He leans against the wall, his knees pulled up to his chest on the bed, raking a shaking hand through his hair.

Peter slowly walks in after a moment, hesitant, and Neal can't read his face. It's stone. Peter's voice is gruff when he speaks. "Neal." Neal nods, looking back down. Peter sits next to him on the edge of the bed, dropping a hand on Neal's shoulder. "We just want you to get through this. I'm…" He pauses, squeezing his eyes shut and inhaling through his nose. "I'm not angry. I just refuse to stand here and watch while you aimlessly stumble through life, Neal." Neal nods again, still not glancing up at Peter. Peter sighs. "You'll finish this week here, then you'll come stay with us. Is that okay?"

Neal hesitates. He knows, somewhere deep within him, that he desperately wants to break this vicious cycle. He needs to. He's miserable. He hasn't lived in so long, he's just been surviving, numb, and feeling the intense longing and emptiness that he just can't fill, no matter how much whiskey he pours into himself. He knows it doesn't work, but he keeps doing it because it makes it feel better for a little while.

He glances up at Peter, his voice shaking when he nods. "Yeah. Okay."

Peter gives him a sad smile, squeezing his shoulder when he looks down, sighing. "If we had known this would happen, that it would be that easy for you to use, I wouldn't have asked you to do it, Neal. I'm sorry."

Neal nods again, then shakes his head. "Don't be sorry. It was my choice."

Peter nods. "Yes. It was. But this was supposed to be a place where you didn't even have to worry about it. It wasn't even supposed to be an option. Once you're done here, you can spend a few days at home, recovering, and we'll get you back to work."

Neal glances up at this. "I'd like that."

Peter shrugs. "You're important to us. We're not ready to lose you, Neal."

"I'm sorry," he finally says, looking up at the two of them, face pained. Peter shifts, looking over at Neal.

"Don't be sorry. You'll be fine."

Neal scoffs. He sure as shit hopes so.

"I'm sorry to hear this happened," Camille says, in her so-calm-it's-annoying voice. Neal shrugs, leaning back in the sofa, crossing an ankle over his knee.

"Yeah."

"You only have four more days with us, Neal. Can you make them count?"

He shifts, glancing up at her. "Sure."

She sighs, studying him, tilting her head slightly. "You have so much potential. You have such an amazing story, and you have so many opportunities to get everything you want in life. I'd hate to see you waste that." He shrugs. "What is your plan, for after graduation?"

He shifts in the sofa again, studying the painting on the wall behind Camille's head. It's tasteless. Everything here is. The decor. The food.

The people. The lives they lead.

"I'll be going back home. Going back to work. Try to live my life."

She considers this. "You live alone. Is being by yourself a good idea right now?"

This catches him off guard, and he realizes that when he said 'home', he meant Peter's house. He shakes his head, gathering his thoughts. "No, no, I'll be staying with my…Dad."

She smiles softly at this. "That's good to hear. He clearly cares about you very much, Neal." He provides a weak smile at this, lacing his fingers together.

"He does. I don't want to know where I'd be if I didn't have him."

She considers this. "Where do you think you'd be?"

He scoffs, glancing down. "Probably dead. If not, very close. I wasn't going anywhere, I wasn't seeing anyone. I wasn't…" He takes a minute, hesitating to gather the strength to say the words. "I had completely lost it, I was at the end of the road. He picked me up again, that's really what I needed. Someone to just believe in me." He sighs. "But I keep messing it up, that's the problem. One of these days, I'm going to tell him I'll really do it this time, and he's just not going to believe me anymore.

"He's your father, Neal. I think he's always going to believe in you." He scoffs at this, studying the ceiling.

"If he was even half-sane, he would have given up on me already."

She smiles at this, looking down at her papers, before glancing back up at him, studying his eyes. "Okay. Okay, Neal. I think that's good for today. Take care of yourself, okay?"

He nods, pushing himself up off the sofa and walking out without another word.

It's time. The day that seals his fate. The day that he had been looking forward to since he got here, but is now dreading.

The real world terrifies him. He knows he's not ready, not in any sense of the word, but here he is. Getting prepared to be shipped off back to the reality that he has no idea how to handle. He's spent 26 days here in Hell, supposedly being given the tools he needs to handle life.

He feels completely unprepared.

"Neal. Neal, you have a visitor."

The young man doesn't reply. He's sitting on his bed, leaned against the wall with his knees up, staring out the window.

Footsteps.

"Neal?"

"Peter." That's all Neal has for his mentor in response right now. He doesn't even look at him. He just stays staring out the window.

"Can you please just look at me?"

Neal doesn't. "What do you want to say to me, Peter?"

The older man sighs. "I wanted to see if you needed help packing." He shrugs. "It's your last day."

Neal finally glances up at this. "I know it is."

"How…are you feeling?" Peter ventures, unsure if that was the right thing to say.

Neal doesn't feel great, and he says so. He's nervous, he's anxious, and he's worried, but most of all, he's depressed. He's incredibly, insanely depressed because he can't even handle 26 days in a structured environment where he is supposed to be recovering, without screwing it up.

"It's going to be okay," Peter says, quiet, as he helps Neal gather his things, but he just hopes to God he's right.

Neal glances over at him. "You think?"

Peter shrugs. "I believe in you. The question is, do you?"

Neal chuckles, but it's half-hearted. "Sure."

Peter sighs. "Neal, we're past that. Come on."

He's well aware they're past that. He can't screw around anymore, this is his last chance. This is the last chance he'll get. Honestly, truthfully, he knows Peter would stay with him till the bitter end, but this is the last chance Neal has to salvage his reputation and save face.

If he fucks up again, it's over for him. He knows there's no other way.

When they're home, it feels much like when he started. He's sitting on the sofa, and El is fawning over him. Peter is sitting across from Neal, studying the young man over the top of his mug of coffee. Neal feels like he's being silently interrogated. After a few painfully silent minutes of this, he throws up his hands.

"Okay, do I have something on my face, or…?"

Peter doesn't budge. El leans over to Neal, murmuring quietly. "Don't mind sour grapes."

Neal smirks as he hears El use Neal's first pet name for Peter. And for the first time since starting all of this, he feels at home.