The next week went quickly and provided much-needed relief for Neal. The Jenning's case was one he could easily get lost in – the play acting, the con, bringing down a crooked politician and the satisfaction of seeing the guy's face when he finally realized that he wasn't as smart as he thought he was. It was always interesting seeing that realization coming over someone who deserved it. The knowledge that Peter was closely and firmly watching his actions, now on the alert for anything that looked suspicious, relieved some of the pressure as well. With little wiggle room, there was no frustration over his lack of planning. That, combined with the juggling of moving con pieces, gave him something to focus on at night and he was able to fall asleep and stay asleep.

"What are you looking at, honey?"

Peter glanced up from the computer screen Saturday afternoon and smiled at his wife. "Just Neal's tracking data for the last month or so." He shook his head. "I think whatever is going on has been going on longer than I thought. I didn't catch it before, but now that I'm looking closer at it, it's clear. Plus, when I was at his apartment this week with Moz, I saw two addresses written on a piece of paper. They were important enough for him to jot down, but not secret enough to hide – they were just stuck on his fridge."

She reached for the paper and read the two addresses and shrugged. "Did you look them up?"

"Yeah, both with a search in our system and I actually drove by and they don't appear to be anything. The first one is a low rise apartment building and the second is another abandoned shipping area." He shook his head, puzzled. "The only hit was on the shipping area, some report of trespassing by a group of kids about six months ago. Because it's by the water, NYPD sent us and Homeland Security copies, but that's it."

"Different from where he was last week?"

He nodded. "Yeah but similar." Moving the mouse, he hit several buttons and leaned back. "Watch this. This is his data from almost a month ago; it's a Friday night."

"OK," she said, sitting down in a chair next to him and leaning closer to watch the screen. She had used the system before and was familiar with what she was seeing. "So that's him getting home," she muttered, watching the glowing dot arrive at a location marked with a red H. The dot shifted slightly around in fast time as the system recorded slight movements around the studio for the next three hours.

"This new system tracks within about 5 ft so he's just moving around his apartment," Peter explained. "Normal pattern of what you'd expect."

She nodded, seeing the dot go still around 10:30. "And he's gone to bed," she said. Glancing at Peter, she shrugged. "I'm lost."

"Wait for it, I missed it too the first few times," he said, keeping an eye on the clock. "Before, I was just looking at the physical location on a spreadsheet, not the real time tracking of the dot's movement."

"He's moving again," she said, surprised. Glancing at the report again, she said, "It's just after midnight. Why is he up again?"

"I have no idea," he said, shaking his head. "And I have no idea what he's doing." Together, they watched the dot bounce around, always staying at the physical location of June's, but all around it, actively twitching for almost 90 minutes before once again going still just before 2 am. "I called June this morning when I saw the actual dot movement and she has no idea either. I gave her the dates and she had guests at the house one of the nights and they never saw Neal, so at least that night, he wasn't just roaming around the house. She said nothing in the garage looks out of place, nothing outside in the garden and nothing in the basement either." He glanced at his wife, "Any ideas?"

She shook her head. "Not a one. How often is he doing this?"

"In six weeks, he's done this at least nine times around the house. Last week was the first time he took this act on the road. If he hadn't done that, I don't know when I would have noticed." He glanced at the scrap of paper. "And now these two addresses tell me he's going to continue to go off the property, or at least has locations in mind."

"You have to do something," Elizabeth said firmly.

He sighed. "Yes, but I don't know what."

"Make him stop."

Peter laughed. "If anything with Neal was that simple, honey, don't you think I would have just made him stop a long time ago?"

Elizabeth glared at him. "Do you have a better idea, then?"

Shaking his head, Peter stared at the screen. "Obviously we'll talk about it tomorrow." The blinking dot seemed to mock him and his inability to figure it out. He knew he needed to respect Neal's private life, but at the same time not give him so much space that it blew up in all their faces. As always, it was a very delicate and thin line he was balanced on.

She stood up and kissed him on the head. "Good. I've an event tomorrow afternoon, so that will give you boys plenty of time to work it out."

Folding his hands, he rested his chin on them, staring at the screen as he thought about the younger man. This new, complicated relationship between them had started several months ago with a simple premise and as long as he stayed focus on that basic truth, that Neal did best when he was working within firm boundaries and slightly off balance, things went OK. Nodding, he picked up the phone and dialed the other man's number.

"Hey Peter, what's up?" Neal asked, picking up on the second ring. There was traffic noise behind him and Peter could see the dot blinking about four blocks from June's, near the small grocery store that the younger man usually visited.

"What are you up to this afternoon?"

The other man hesitated for a second before saying, "I was picking up some food for the week. Why?"

"Why don't you come over today instead of waiting until tomorrow," he said evenly. "We need to talk."

Neal hesitated again, "About what?"

"I'm not exactly sure what you're doing at night, either at June's or the last time you went out, but the fact that you're being evasive about it tells me I wouldn't approve." He paused, letting his words sink in. "Something is bothering you; I can tell you're struggling with something and you need to trust me enough to let me in on the secret."

"I'm fine, Peter," the other man said automatically.

The agent bit back a groan, knowing that if the other man were in front of him, his eyes would have just tightened just a fraction, his main tell that he had mentally cut himself off. "Don't give me that crap, Neal. I'm not buying it."

"I'm fine. I'm handling everything just fine," he said. "Look, I need to go; my waffles are going to defrost."

"Come over tonight," Peter said again. "You'll feel better if you tell me what's going on and don't try to deal with whatever it is alone."

"Are you asking, or are you telling me?"

Peter hesitated, wanting to say it was an order, but also knowing that pushing could destroy the fragile bonds that had started to bind them personally and not just professionally. The line was already being blurred, but he didn't think it could take that much strain at this point. If it broke, he knew Neal would be gone. "I'm asking," he said quietly. "I'm asking as a trusted friend for you to think about coming over. I need you to be honest with me here, Neal. That's the only way this will work, this is why we have Rule #4." When the other man didn't say anything, he said, "Will you think about it?"

"Yeah, OK," the other man said and quickly hung up.

"Do you think he'll come over?" Elizabeth asked from her position in the kitchen doorway.

Peter glanced up at her and slowly shook his head. "I'm just hoping he still comes over tomorrow."

Walking over, she leaned over and hugged him from behind, resting her head on top of his head. "Well, if he doesn't, you can go fetch him."

He laughed. "And drag him back here and see if I can beat some sense into him?"

Elizabeth laughed back. "I was thinking more like cookies, but beating might work better."

That evening, he moved the laptop into the living room and split his concentration between the blinking dot, stationary at June's, and the movie playing on the TV. He hoped the door bell would ring, but wasn't surprised when he followed Elizabeth upstairs at 11 and it hadn't.

The bell didn't ring, but his recharging phone chirped on the nightstand at 3:30 am. Instantly awake, fearing that it was the Marshals, he grabbed the phone and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Neal's name on the display. "It's 3:30 in the morning," he said, annoyance replacing the fear and relief in a second.

"I know, but I thought you'd appreciate me calling you and not ringing the bell," Neal said. "Or worse, letting myself in." He hesitated and then added in a quieter voice, "You said to come over, remember?"

"That I did," the other man said, biting back any further comments. Neal showing up at 3:30 was better than not showing up at all and the myriad of possible outcomes that would mean. "Where are you?"

"The cab dropped me off at the corner; I'm standing on your front stairs now."

Sliding out of bed, he said, "Don't move, I'm coming down to get you." Clicking down the phone, he shook his head silently.

"Was that Neal?" Elizabeth asked, blinking up at him in the dark room.

He leaned down and kissed her. "Yeah honey, he's downstairs. I'm going to go let him in and we're going to talk. Go back to sleep." Slipping on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, unwilling to have this conversation with Neal in a robe, he padded downstairs a minute later. Flipping on the front porch light, he saw Neal sitting on the stairs. He unlocked the door and motioned him inside. "Come on." The young man looked tired and was moving slowly and gingerly as he smiled and carefully walked into the house. As he passed, Peter patted him on the back. "Good call."

"About ….?" he asked, allowing his voice to trail off.

"Several things – not ringing the bell and waking up Elizabeth and the dog, definitely a good call on not breaking in."

Neal smiled at that. "Yeah, I figured that had a better than even chance of getting me shot." He chuckled, "You probably wouldn't even have gotten into trouble if you shot me."

"Let's see … felon breaking into my house in the middle of the night with my wife upstairs?" Peter pretended to think for a minute and then shook his head, "I think I might have gotten a commendation out of that, actually."

"Well, thank you for giving up a lovely certificate in lieu of my life," he said with a small smile.

"And an even better call on coming over," Peter said honestly, looking at him. "Come on, kitchen, so we can talk." Leading the way through the dark living and dining rooms, he pushed open the door and held it for Neal. The night light cast a warm glow in the small room and he felt himself relax. Neal had come on his own and seemed willing to talk. It was going to be OK.

"Is there ice cream?" Walking toward the refrigerator, his hand paused, hovering over the freezer handle.

Peter mentally reviewed how best to deal with this and fell back on a joke. "Have you been good?"

The other man looked at him for a second and then slowly smiled. "You said I made several very good calls tonight. So I think I deserve ice cream."

"That you did," he agreed and nodded. "Pick out what you want. But don't take the last of the Peanut Butter Swirl, that's Elizabeth's favorite. And don't take the last of the Mint Chocolate, because that's mine."

"Duly noted," he said, studying the cartoons stacked in the door. Five minutes later, he swirled a spoon through the dark chocolate, studying the dessert and avoiding Peter's gaze.

"What's your favorite kind?" Peter asked, sensing that the younger man wasn't ready to open up yet.

Neal laughed. "I don't know. I like a lot of flavors." He scooped up a small bit and savored it. "This is really good. But that blueberry stuff from last week was good, too." He shrugged and took another small bite. "I don't know." Staring back into the bowl sitting on the dining room table, he grew quiet.

Bumping the other man's leg with his foot, causing him to look up, Peter smiled at him. "Well if you decide you really like one or two, let Elizabeth know and she'll make sure we have it."

The younger man smiled. "Really?"

"Just consider it a good bribe to keep you on your best behavior," Peter shot back.

Neal grinned. "That should work. I usually don't care about bribes, but this one …"

Sensing the opening, Peter scooped up a small bit of his own dessert and said casually, "Is this desire to be good in order to get ice cream what got you over here tonight?" He saw the other man jerk slightly, jolted back to reality. Staying quiet and simply watching Neal out of the corner of his eye, he concentrated on his own dish and let the other man struggle with an answer.

"No," he said finally in a low voice.

Peter nodded. "Good."

Pushing his bowl away, Neal sighed, folding his arms on the wooden table and laying his head down on them. "I did something stupid tonight," he said in a rush of words, "and I got hurt. But I didn't do something that would have been really stupid, but if I had done that I probably wouldn't have gotten hurt, but you would have killed me and I couldn't deal with that." Turning his face deeper into his folded arms, he said quietly, "It was just fun and helped and right now, I'm willing to do pretty much anything that helps."

Struggling to catch up, the older man stayed quiet for a second, replaying what Neal had just said. He moved his chair closer and patted the younger man's back, trying hard not to panic or jump to conclusions over what "stupid" might be in Neal's mind. "OK, let's take this one thing at a time and we'll work through it."

Head still buried, he nodded but didn't say anything.

He eyed his friend, not seeing any blood or difficultly breathing, so however he was hurt couldn't be too serious and they could deal with that second. Moving down the list, Peter asked, "When you say you did something stupid, what did you do?"

Finally looking up, Neal eyed him. "You're going to get mad, I'm sure."

"Spit it out," he ordered firmly.

"I've been doing some climbing," he said in a rush, eying Peter. "At June's and I did most of the easy walls and areas already so I tackled an area that I really didn't think would work." He made a back and forth motion with his hand several times before flipping it over and miming falling, "It was iffy, but I should have trusted my gut."

"And you fell?" Peter asked, interrupting. "How far? What did you land on?"

"Not that far, maybe fifteen feet," he said, unconcerned. "I didn't think I'd be able to get around that ledge part and I was right." He smiled. "I've always had a good instinct for stuff like that."

Peter eyed him. "You're brilliant, congratulations. Where did you get hurt?"

"Oh, it's fine, just scrapes mostly. I banged my elbow too, but it's OK," he said, moving his arm back and forth as proof.

Feeling relieved, Peter nodded. "OK, we'll deal with that later." He took a breath, then asked, "So why were you climbing June's walls? This is what you've been doing at night?" Realization slowly dawned on him. "And what you were doing at that warehouse last week?"

Neal watched him warily, trying to judge the reaction. "I got hurt tonight because I knew you'd kill me if I went off her property again. Especially so soon after …" He hesitated, struggling to describe last weekend before finally giving up. "Especially so soon after you expressed your extreme displeasure last weekend."

Hiding a smile at Neal's description, Peter reached out and shook his shoulder gently, giving it a squeeze. "That wasn't extreme displeasure last weekend, that was just simple displeasure. Extreme would have been if you had pulled that stunt again tonight."

"So good call?"

"Yes," he said, nodding. "A very good call." He eyed the younger man for a moment. "OK, let's back up for a second. Start at the beginning for me. About a month ago, you started climbing ….?" Sliding his chair slightly closer, he kept his hand on the other man's back. "Why?"

With a tired sigh, Neal laid his head back down on his arms. "That's a hard question, Peter."

"Give it your best shot."

Not lifting his head, he started to talk. He told Peter about the pigeon and the first climb and how happy it made him, how free it made him feel. "It was just such a great feeling, so many good memories," he said. "I hadn't done it in so long, but it was like my muscles remembered everything."

Biting back a comment about how those memories had been made, Peter just nodded. "I'm sure."

"So then about a week later, that ass from Accounting was giving me a hard time and I couldn't sleep and my mind was just spinning over everything …" His voice trailed off as he replayed the events in his mind. "It was a great solution. I could concentrate on that, finding the right hand hold, the right approach." He glanced up and smiled. "Except for the few cases since I've been back, it's the first thing that I've been able to really concentrate on."

"What do you mean?"

"I use to be able to plan moves ahead, I could see how all the pieces were going to fall into place ages before it actually happened." He shook his head, "Now, unless I'm working, it seems like I can barely plan far enough ahead to have food in the apartment. I try, but I just can't hold on to anything, I can't focus." He gave another smile. "But it's better after I do this. It's like I remind my mind how to focus and things are better, sharper, I feel more relaxed. I did a great sketch last week, first one since Kate."

Peter smiled, squeezing his shoulder. "Excellent." He remembered bringing supplies to Neal in prison after the plane explosion and them going untouched. Even afterward, when he had suggested drawing, the idea had been quickly and completely rebuffed. Debating for a moment, he added, "Let's just make sure that everything is signed with your name, OK?"

Neal laughed, giving his friend an honest smile. "If you remember correctly, I do sign things. Might not be big, might not be flashing, but I do sign things."

"Yes, yes," he corrected, gently cuffing the younger man on the back of the head before turning it into a familiar stroke. "Let's aim for big and legible then, OK?"

"You can't tell an artist how to work, Peter," he said with another smile. Then, seeing the frown, added, "But I'll be sure to keep your suggestions in mind."

He nodded, then refocused, wanting to get back to the matter at hand. "So you've been playing Spiderman at June's for a month, but ..."

Sitting up, Neal nodded. "But I did all the easy spots and then tackled a few of the harder ones." He flashed a quick smile before turning his attention to the salt shaker, gently bouncing it between his two hands. "I think that's how I might maybe have scraped my knuckles a few weeks ago."

Peter saw Neal watching, waiting, for a reaction to this bit of information hidden between a host of maybes, thinks and might haves. He nodded. "I would say that's a good guess." There was no sense getting upset or angry when he had known all along that the planter story wasn't right.

"There are some great websites that deal with urban climbing," he said, continuing the story. "Locations with their ratings, avoidance tips, schedules and whatnot. So I found a highly recommended location well within my two mile radius and checked it out that night."

"You mean, you went onto private property in the middle of the night to go climbing by yourself," Peter clarified. "Based on a website that you found that included guard schedules and tips on how to avoid them?"

Neal looked at him and shrugged. "You could put it that way if you insist on being negative."

"I'm putting the spin on it," he countered, struggling not to raise his voice, "that any prosecutor would if you had been caught."

The other man shrugged again and tried to look as if he understood and agreed with Peter's concerns.

"Don't even give me that look," the other man said sharply, shaking his head. "Thank god you weren't caught." Glancing off into the distance, he once again thanked whatever gods or angels seemed to watch over stupid young men and thieves. Turning his attention back to his friend, he replayed the confession earlier. There was little doubt that the tired and slightly lost feeling young man was still there, just under the surface and being protected as usual by the quick to smile and charming con man.

"I just don't know what else to do, Peter," he said, softly. "I have to get back what I lost or I'm not me. It was just so fun and easy and …." His voice trailed off again as he picked up the pepper shaker and began a complicated pattern, juggling and shuffling it with the salt. "It felt really good and it's been awhile since I've felt that."

"I know," Peter said honestly, thinking over how best to handle this situation. He glanced at the clock and saw it was almost 4:30. "Let me give this some thought and we'll come up with a solution." Reaching out, he gently shook him, "I'm telling you right now though, you're not going back to June's alone until we have a solution. Agreed?"

Neal nodded, but didn't say anything.

"How are you feeling now?"

He shrugged, "I don't know."

"Take a stab at it," the other man said firmly.

"Better than I did when I first got here, better than earlier," he said after a moment. He glanced at the older man. "Are you mad?"

Peter thought for a minute, knowing that Neal was actually asking a host of questions: Was Peter mad at him personally, was he mad at the situation, was he disappointed, and if the answer was yes to any of those, what was he going to do about it? "I'm not mad; I'm just very glad you told me," he said, looking at him. "I'm very glad that you trusted me enough to tell me what was going on."

Neal nodded, looking away and back to the two shakers.

"Hey," Peter said, reaching out and touching his hand. "Look at me."

The other man glanced over and gave a quick smile. "What?"

"I mean it," he said firmly. "I'm not mad and I'm very glad that you told me, that you trusted me with this." He watched a host of emotions flash across the other man's face as he glanced between the shakers, Peter's hand and back to Peter's face.

"Me too," he said finally.

Peter watched him struggle to say something else, but it was too much and finally he nodded, standing up. "Come on. I want to see these 'not too bad' scratches of yours before you go to bed."

"They're really not bad, it's …" Seeing Peter's face, Neal rolled his eyes, holding up his hands. "Fine, whatever makes you happy but we're not cleaning them with anything that stings."

"No promises." He glanced at him, "I'm assuming you've had a tetanus shot in the last few years?"

"Of course," Neal said automatically.

Peter eyed him and made a mental note to look it up on Monday.

OooOoo

"So what do you think," the middle aged instructor asked after the quick tour late Wednesday afternoon. "Will this work?"

Standing in the massive, brightly lit room, Peter glanced at Neal. "Neal?"

The younger man smiled and nodded. "Yeah. It's great."

The instructor qua tour guide smiled . "Excellent! Let me go grab the forms and you can fill them out. As soon as you send them back in, you're good to go."

Neal glanced around as he and Peter walked out of "Manhattan Rocks," home – or at least proud claimant of – the largest indoor climbing structures on the east coast, forms in hand. "I don't think I've ever climbed where it's so bright. Or used hand holds that are colored. It's going to be interesting."

The other man laughed at the layers of truth in that statement. "Just think of it as a new challenge."

He thought for a second, "Oh wait, there was this one time when I was allegedly doing something and the wall I allegedly used was covered in mosaics. Those are brightly colored." Glancing at Peter, he smiled. "Think that counts?"

Peter laughed. "Since you just allegedly did it, I'd say no. Now, if you want to own up to something …"

Neal laughed, holding up his hands as they reached the car. "No, I'm good. Thanks though." As he slipped inside, he turned to Peter, saying in a more serious voice, "Thank you, this is perfect."

He smiled back, "Just use your climbing skills for good, Spiderman, and I'm fine with this." Pulling out into traffic, Peter started the drive back to Brooklyn. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Neal close his mouth, cutting off the question. "Any idea what's for dinner tonight?" he asked a moment later.

Neal relaxed into the seat and smiled slightly. "Something with chicken?"

The End