The night before Neal broke into the staffroom and discovered that his school was, once again, surrounded by NYPD, he had been worried about a history test. It was a trivial little exam - just a pop quiz on the topic "medicine through time", but Neal had never been so worried. Perhaps it was the fact that the test was so unimportant that made it so terrifying.

Neal was used to pressure, but the type of pressure he could handle was usually on a grand scale. He could cope with the stress of 'if this goes wrong, my life is ruined'. He faced that sort of pressure on a daily basis, when he was running cons or the threat of prison. But when the pressure was smaller (like wanting to get a good grade in his history test) for some reason, his brain couldn't cope.

The night before Neal found his school invaded by a huge police presence, he had sat at the kitchen table with a biro in one hand and a textbook in the other.

"Quick, Elizabeth – test me. Ask me who developed the Theory of the Four Humours."

"Who developed the-"

"Claudius Galen." Neal blurted before she could finish, "He was also known as Galen of Pergamon because he was born in Turkey. He was a very influential, Greek speaking Roman doctor whose ideas lasted for well over a thousand years-"

"Um…" El stopped stirring her pot of pasta long enough to squint at Neal's textbook. "That's right?"

"I'm so worried about this test tomorrow. I'm going to fail." He pushed his hands through his hair dejectedly. His knee was bobbing up and down on its own accord – a nervous habit.

"No you're not, sweetie. You're a very bright kid."

"Thanks," said Neal sarcastically, "Tell that to the school." Peter and Elizabeth froze.

"What?" Neal looked up from his textbook, noticing the expression on the faces of his foster parents. "Look," he sighed, "I'm sorry for being grumpy. I know I'm being really rude and grouchy but I'm just a bit stressed out…" he took a deep breath, then smiled wanly, "I'll try to be more cheerful and not get so worried about this stupid history test."

"No, it's not that." Peter said. "Though perhaps a sunnier attitude wouldn't go unwarranted." He smiled lightly. Even though he was on the other side of the room, his voice carried well enough to hear. "Neal… are you being bullied?"

"No."

Elizabeth took a step forward. "You don't sound so sure, sweetie."

"It's fine, really." Neal looked from face to face, then put down his textbook. His hands were covered in highlighter stains. Little flicks of colour ran up and down his fingers. "The other kids aren't all that nice to me, that's all. But I've told a teacher about it and he's sorting it all out."

That wasn't entirely a lie. Mr Harris was indeed on the job, but whether he would be successful was debateable at the moment. The teacher was awfully inept at dealing with a problem on such a large and sensitive scale. Neal was far more confident about his own plan in the pipeline – bugging the teacher's staffroom and selling the information onwards – would solve the bullying situation. It wasn't perhaps the noblest thing to do, but it was bound to be more successful than Mr Harris's ridiculous ideas.

Peter's mouth was set in a thin line. It dawned on Neal that the agent didn't buy his claim that everything was fine and dandy. He quickly changed the subject.

"Can you test me about the Renaissance? Ask me about Andreas Vesalius-"

"Do you always get this worried before a test?" Peter interrupted. He was still looking suspicious, as though he knew that Neal was being bullied, as though he knew that Neal was having a hard time at school. Peter was sitting in his favourite armchair reading the evening papers, Satchmo's head lolling in his lap, his arms folded.

"Yes, no, I don't know! Just, test me on more facts!" To Neal's annoyance, Peter started laughing. "What? What's so funny?"

"You," he chuckled, "I mean, you're usually so calm and collected. Do you get this stressed out before a heist or a robbery or something?"

"No," said Neal sullenly – though secretly he was glad that Peter had let the subject of bullying drop. "I don't."

"And why's that?" He thought about it for a moment.

"I guess it's because I know that nothing is left to chance. I plan my crimes meticulously – I know exactly what I have to do, know all the timings, all the exits, have all the Plan Bs and Plan Cs and Plan freaking Zs figured out…"

"Present tense," said Peter idly, flicking over the page to the sports section.

"Eh?"

"I plan my crimes. You used the present tense."

"Sorry."

Neal winced as he recalled the conversation. Peter had seemed so distant last night, as though he was holding back something… important. Neal knew that the agent was worried about something, and that something wasn't just the fact that Neal was being picked on. No, Peter was hiding something very big, and Neal wasn't going to rest until he found out what it was.

He sighed heavily and returned his attention to the window. He was standing in the stairwell, watching as the door to the nearest police car opened and Peter Burke, of all people, stepped out. This was it. They had found out about the stolen maths challenge money and they were going to take him away again. I plan my crimes. What had he been thinking? Peter had been onto him ever since last night, and in the game they played, that was an awfully long time. Long enough to gather all the evidence, create a rock solid case against him. Only one question remained. Why was Peter arresting him at the school? They lived in the same house, so why nab him when he was in front of all his classmates? It made no sense. The only reason Neal could come up with was perhaps Peter was trying to embarrass him. His cheeks burned with anger. This was so unfair.

He stood there, frozen on the stairs, torn between wanting to run and wanting to confront Peter. By the time the group of policeman marched through the revolving doors and into the foyer, it was far too late for Neal to escape. Peter saw him from across the room.

"Neal! Just the kid I was looking for." What put him in such a good mood? Neal wondered bitterly as he jumped down to the landing from half way up the stairs and walked stiffly over to Peter. He had decided against running. It was too much like the last time – sprinting through the corridors, hurting his ankle, dodging bullets… he couldn't cope with the stress of that sort of situation again. This time round, he was going to face the music.

"Here to arrest me?" He asked snippily when he reached Peter and the group of cops. There was a moment of silence. The officers exchanged looks. Then their faces cracked into grins and they started to laugh loudly, falling out of formation as they held their sides and roared with mirth. Peter smiled, clapped a hand on Neal's shoulder and led him to one side.

"Now why would I arrest you?" Neal opened his mouth to answer, but Peter raised a finger. "Actually, on second thought, don't answer that. I don't think I want to know."

"So why are you here?" Neal shot a glance back at the policemen in the entrance hall. They were still chuckling noisily. Peter grinned.

"I'm here to solve your problems, Neal. That's what dads are for, after all."

"You have got to be kidding me."

"I'm deadly serious." Neal inspected his face for a few moments. He was. He was actually going to solve all of his problems…

"What do you mean? What problems? And how are you going to solve them?" Peter looked at him sternly.

"What problems? Really, Neal? I know that you're being bullied! And I know that the school is doing nothing to sort it out," his eyes flashed with anger. Peter continued, but at a slower rate. "I'm going to stop this once and for all."

"You don't need to." Neal muttered, "I've got it covered."

"By bugging the teacher's lounge?" Peter rolled his eyes, "Because I can really see that little plan working out for you."

"How-"

"Mozzie." Peter held up his hands, seeing the look on Neal's face, "Before you get mad, you should know that I practically forced him into telling me. He was worried about you, so he told El and I what was going on and what was being done to stop it." Neal ran his fingers through his hair. He didn't blame Mozzie for talking to Peter. His friend was just looking out for him, as always.

"My method would have worked," said Neal, stubborn as ever.

"I don't doubt that it would have," said Peter grimly, "It's a classic Caffrey strategy: sneaky, underhanded, surprisingly sophisticated, brilliant, crazily unique." He cracked a wry smile. "But the strategy that you use for robbing banks isn't the strategy that you should use to deal with bullying."

"Well what strategy should you use, Einstein?"

"Love," said Peter simply. "Neal, I'm going to sort this out. I promise. Your job right now is to go back to your studies and let me handle it." And with that, he turned tail and walked away. Neal tried to follow him, but one of the police officers stepped forward and placed a hand gently on his shoulder.

"Go back to class, honey," she said, "We've got this covered." Cursing through gritted teeth and feeling more lost than ever, Neal turned his back on the police force in the foyer and marched up the stairs back to history. He had no idea how Peter planned to solve his 'problem', but he knew that whatever it was, he wasn't going to like it.

Ten minutes later, the announcement sounded over the intercom.

"All students to report to the hall after lesson three for a short, whole school assembly. All students to report to the hall. Thank you." Neal groaned and sat up straighter on his blue plastic chair. This couldn't be good. He sensed Peter's hand in all this. An assembly in the middle of the day? All around him, students were muttering and exchanging looks. There was a lot of general chatter about the nature of the surprise assembly and the fact that there were a dozen police cars parked outside. Neal knew that he was getting a lot of attention. Did Peter really think that this would solve Neal's problems? At the moment, it was just making the situation worse.

"Ok, class, pack up your things and head downstairs." Mrs Cromwell called as the lesson finished. Neal silently shoved his history book into his bag. He couldn't wait to get out of the stuffy classroom. It had probably been the worst lesson of his life: he had been shouted at for being late, received a detention, got slapped in the face by none other than Alex Hunter and had been accosted by his foster father on the way back from the medical room. And to cap it all off, the test he had been worried about and revising frantically for all night long had been postponed until a later date – meaning that he had completely wasted his time.

"How much would you like to bet that you're going to get expelled? Fifty dollars? A hundred?" Neal turned around, swinging his bag onto one shoulder. Gordon Taylor was standing behind him.

"Pardon?" Neal asked, and the other boy just laughed.

"Assembly in the middle of the day? Bunch of cops downstairs? You're going to get expelled and they're going to do it in front of the whole school." Neal pushed past Gordon and walked quickly out of the classroom. It couldn't be true, could it? When Peter said that he would solve all his problems… he hadn't meant that he would solve them by getting Neal kicked out of school, did he? Neal didn't have all that much faith in his foster father. And the thing about Gordon Taylor – annoying as he was, he was a smart kid. He was often right.

Neal straightened his shoulders and rocketed down the stairs, propelled towards the assembly hall by a stream of students. His mouth felt very dry.

"This way, this way… Sit in your form groups." The head teacher, the forbidding Mrs Stabbers, was standing in the centre of the hall, directing the students like a traffic cop. "Stop talking! Sit quietly in alphabetical order. And Thomas Thompson! Spit out that chewing gum!" Neal shuffled over to where his form group had taken up two rows of blue plastic chairs and sat down in his allocated seat. He could see Peter standing at the front, talking softly and animatedly with Mr Harris. Neither of them looked very happy. A senior police officer stood behind him, her arms crossed ominously.

"There he is, the murderer, the thief-" Everywhere Neal looked, people were whispering about him and studying him surreptitiously out of the corners of their eyes. He stopped glancing around the room and focussed straight ahead, avoiding everyone's gaze. In his mind, he mentally calculated escape routes. He could run through the fire door, smash through the window…

"Could I have your attention, please." Slowly, the hubbub died down as the head called for silence.

"Mrs Stabbers looks angry," whispered Jeannie Collins, the girl sitting on Neal's right. Neal swallowed.

"Yeah. Looks like she's in the mood to stab someone."

"Like nobody's ever made that joke before," sniffed Jeannie, but she stopped talking when a nearby teacher gave her the evils.

"Now that I have your full and undivided attention," said Mrs Stabbers to the group of assembled teens, "I'd like to hand you over to Special Agent Peter Burke, who works for the FBI. Agent Burke has taken time off work to talk to you today, so I'd like you all to listen to what he has to say attentively." She needn't have bothered with the speech. The kids in the hall were staring at Peter with a mixture of shock and fear, as though enraptured by his very presence.

"Thank you, Mrs Stabbers." Peter took the podium amid a light spattering of applause. "I'm here today because of a young man. This boy is of great interest to the FBI and I'm sure that you all know him. Nick Halden - can you stand up please?"

Neal wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. This was it. They were going to expel him – but he was damned if he was going to look scared in front of everyone. Shaking ever so slightly, he smoothed down his tie and stood up in front of the entire school.

Hey guys, thanks for reading and reviewing for so long! I really appreciate all the feedback! Sorry I didn't update last week - exams are coming up and I've been a bit busy with revision and homework and all that jazz. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'd love to hear your thoughts! :)