A/N: Dear friends. I give you the final chapter of Occupational Hazard. I had so much fun with this story, and while it is definitely not my best work, I'm so glad I had the balls to put it up here and share it with all of you. You have no idea what all of the support meant to me, and it's only encouraged me to continue writing. Love to all.

Chapter 23

It only took a week.

Just seven days. Peter had given up on Neal, which meant more than just losing his faith in the younger man. If Neal wasn't working for Peter, it meant he had to go back to prison. It was just a matter of time. He couldn't go back to prison. So he ran.

He ran, and he hid. He hid from the truth, from the situation, from Peter. From Peter's men, waiting for him to come out so they could cuff him.

For seven days, Neal became completely invisible. For a man of such grand charisma, he's incredibly good at making himself invisible. It was never hard for Neal, but especially now, when even he has no idea who he really is. He's lost. He's broken.

Sisley hasn't made any contact with him. Neal's best guess is she doesn't want to associate with him, now that she's in prison and getting sober, and he's so obviously not.

He's wandering down the street, scanning the crowd for a mark. He's desperate, and his mind isn't currently capable of running the elaborate cons he'd be using to fund his habit, so he's back to the basics. Lifting wallets. Making 'friends'. He's drunk and alone, the way he's been continuously for the past week, but today he can also add paranoid to that list. A light chill runs through him, as he gets the feeling he's being followed. A siren screams into his ear as a police car whizzes past him, and the sound makes him jump, resulting in him nearly stumbling over another passerby.

"Watch it, asshole," the gruff voice mutters, and Neal staggers to a stop, pressing a palm to the building he's near, and taking a few deep breaths. Once he's regained his footing again, he continues on his way, pulling his coat tighter around him.

He makes sure to never make eye-contact with anyone, but something, somehow, in this moment urges him to glance up. His heart skids to a stop in his chest as he locks eyes with the man staring at him from across the street. Peter. His former mentor's eyes are wide, and he's stopped in a panic, unsure of how to approach the situation. He certainly doesn't want to spook Neal.

Neal takes a sharp inhale, and as soon as he sees Peter shift, presumably to cross the street and follow Neal, he manages to disappear into the crowd. The way he always does. Peter blinks, and the man he used to know so well, but now can hardly recognize, is gone.

Neal doesn't sleep that night, not even for a minute. He's been steadily drinking since around 4 that afternoon, and he should have been knocked unconscious hours ago, but seeing Peter has jarred something in him that keeps him wide awake as he stares over the skyline from the roof, a shaking hand gripping a wine glass.

He's still there when the sun rises, though now he's sitting. The violent shaking that racks his body doesn't stop, no matter how many times he refills his glass, and he's slumped in a chair and holding a palm to his head as he hangs onto his last threads of consciousness. It's hell, and he doesn't want to do it anymore. And he thinks about Peter. He thinks about the man who gave him the opportunity to turn everything around, to give him a place to stay, to give him a name he could keep forever, so he didn't have to run anymore. And when things went downhill for Neal, and he fell into this cycle, Peter never gave up on him. Until now.

Even in his haze, Neal knows exactly what he needs to do.

In this state, it probably isn't a great idea for him to go for a walk, but for the first time in a long time, he knows exactly where he's going. He hasn't slept in days, he hasn't seen a moment sober in days, and he hasn't spoken to a friend in days, but right now, he's determined to get where he's going, even in his complete and utter intoxication. The longer he walks, the angrier he gets. Every time he shuts his eyes, he sees the tortured look of disappointment on Peter's face, and when he finally reaches the Bureau, he can barely stay standing, a combination of his rage and his just over 12 straight hours of inebriation.

Up in the office, Peter is distracted. He's trying to read through some intelligence on his latest case, but all he can think about is seeing Neal. He should have been able to get to him. This preys on his mind for a while, when his office phone interrupts him.

"Yeah," he mutters upon answering, pressing a finger into the button for speakerphone.

"Agent Burke, this is Westley, I've just been told Neal Caffrey is in front of the building."

Peter stops at this, staring blankly ahead. It takes him a moment, but once the information sinks in, he purses his lips and just hangs up, jumping into action. He's in a daze as he pulls on his coat and makes his way to the elevator, tapping a foot during the ride down as he mentally prepares himself for whatever this may be.

The sight he takes in when he exits the building brings him to a sudden halt. Neal is pacing in circles- stumbling, really- and his fingers are tangled in his hair. He keeps his head down, eyes squeezed shut, and Peter could swear he hears Neal muttering to himself. Maybe he's just imagining that part, but the man has lost it. Completely, utterly. Peter's heart sinks. "Neal." Neal doesn't respond, continuing in his small circles. "Neal, hey." Neal finally stops and looks up at this, looking like a deer caught in headlights, and he studies Peter for a moment, eyes wide as though he doesn't recognize the mean speaking to him. Peter sighs, shaking his head. "Its me. Peter."

Neal tilts his head down, trying out the name in his mouth. "Peter." It clicks, and Neal squeezes his eyes shut, muttering the name again under his breath. "Peter."

Peter nods at this, carefully reaching out and hooking an arm behind Neal's shoulder, carefully guiding the stumbling man to a bench. Neal leans forward with his head in his hands, and Peter places a hand on Neal's shoulder. "Why'd you run, bud."

Neal doesn't reply to this, but does look up, studying Peter for a moment. The older man is struck by how raw and red Neal's eyes are, and he attributes it to the insane amount of alcohol he's sure his friend has pumped into his system over the last 24 hours or so, until he sees tears build up and threaten to spill. He squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn't know how to handle tears. He wouldn't know how to handle it, if Neal cried. "I'm done," Neal mumbles, lacing his fingers to keep the shaking at bay.

Peter glances up again at this. "You're what?"

Neal repeats himself, clearly trying to enunciate more this time around, but failing completely as his words slip together. "I'm done with this." He hesitates, searching the sky. "I give up." Peter furrows a brow.

"Neal, you can't-"

Neal interrupts here, looking up at Peter. The younger man is near incoherent, but he knows exactly what he wants to say. "I give up pretending I can control this, the way I want to control everything. I'm done letting this run my life. I know I can do better, you've shown me that."

Peter hears this, and it swirls around in his head for a moment. He wants to believe Neal, so badly, but he's not sure he can after all of this. "What did I have to do with it?"

Neal hesitates, before looking back up at Peter. "You're the only one who could change my mind."

.366 DAYS LATER.

The crowd in the lecture hall doesn't intimidate him anymore. He stands, comfortable, and scans the group. He's at the prison, Sisley's prison, and he's just been asked to be the secretary for this weekly meeting. He runs the whole operation, now. His fingers wrap around the podium, and he shifts, smiling out at the broken faces around him. "Hi. My name is Neal. I'm an alcoholic. And it has been three hundred and sixty five days, since my last drink."

A light smattering of applause responds, encouraging him. He looks down, smirking a personal smile of pride, only for himself. Sisley keeps her eyes down. He doesn't even see her in the crowd.

"Today, I just wanted to share some thoughts I have, about being clean for a year today, and what that means for me." A few people nod, and he takes a deep breath before he continues. "I'm not a big fan of who I am. I was- at least, I thought I was, back then. I was kidding myself, proud of all of these things I had done, because they were the only things I had. Better be proud of something awful, than nothing at all." He hesitates, then looks out at the crowd again. "Like some of you, I had a lot of people who cared about me, deeply. And also, like some of you, I felt totally alone. Regardless. I never met a soul who identified with me, who understood how hard this was." He chuckles, but it's weak. Sad. "'Just stop,' they said. 'You know you're killing yourself. Why don't you just stop?' It's never that easy. It consumes your thoughts, all the time. I've always gone for things, 100 percent. All the way. I can't do anything unless I put everything into it. That included my disease."

Something tugs at Neal's heart, and encourages him to look to the back of the room at that moment. Peter is there, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. He nods to Neal. Neal hesitates, swallowing, and nods back, before beginning again. "My job isn't easy. It's hard. It's a lot of pressure, and no matter how badly I want a drink, or ten, at the end of the day, to take some of the stress off, I do better now that I'm sober. I don't have as much stress, or as much to worry about, because I'm can do my absolute best. That's the kind of man I want to be." He pauses, looking back up at Peter, who has a hint of a grin on his lips. "I have a lot of good people in my life. I wouldn't be here today, were it not for a few of them." Neal hesitates, glancing down. "I'm better now, because I finally did what those people did all of this time: cared about myself. And that's what I'm proud of, today."

When the meeting is over, Neal immediately finds Peter, strolling up to him, wearing a grin. Peter slaps a hand on Neal's shoulder. "How are you, bud."

Neal clears his throat, and looks down for a moment, before glancing back up at Peter. The smile fades slightly. "I'm doing okay, Peter," he says, nodding. "I'm doing okay."

Peter can't help but cock his head at this. "Only okay?"

The younger man shrugs. "It's just today. I'm allowed to have a less than perfect day. Tomorrow will be better."

Peter nods at this, frowning as he sips his coffee, scanning the room. A grin spreads across Neal's face as he focuses on something across the room, and Peter glances up to see what it is. Neal has crossed the hall, returning with a young man reluctantly trailing behind him. He's of average height, almost lanky, and the mess of blonde curls piled on top of his head make him look even younger. In reality, he's probably fresh out of grad school, but everything about this man- the way his clothes hold his frame, his hair in his eyes, the way he holds himself- speaks as though he's years younger.

"Hey, this is my Dad. Dad, this is Graham. He's my sponsee, he'd like to work in Federal law enforcement and I thought you kids might hit it off." Graham makes eye contact with Peter, and extends a hand to shake. Peter likes him already. He grins, shaking the young man's hand. Neal glances to Peter, raising his eyebrows as he silently asks for approval. Peter just grins.

"Graham. Good to meet you." He shifts, crossing his arms. "Federal law enforcement, huh? What do you want to do?"

Graham is quiet at first, but he quickly warms up to Peter, and in minutes the two are exchanging banter the way Neal and Peter do. After some time, they remember that Neal is there, and Graham glances over at Neal. "Thanks for sharing today, Neal. I really needed that today." Neal grins and slaps Graham on the back, but his smile fades when his eyes wander across the hall and zero in on Sisley, sitting with her head down, alone.

"Neal. Neal. Hey."

Neal glances up again, blinking, and Peter raises his eyebrows at him. Neal draws a shaky breath, glancing down for a moment, before looking up again and resuming his conversation.

Today isn't perfect. Life isn't perfect. Neal isn't perfect.

But he's a hell of a lot better than he was.

End.