Peter sat in stunned silence next to his crying CI. Suddenly, all the information in Neal's handwritten dossier on Ammon clicked into place. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, how this man hurt Neal. Peter vowed to see him behind bars for the rest of his life-or dead, whichever. When it came to seeing his family hurt, Peter would tear the enemy limb-to-limb.

"Oh. Shit. Neal." Peter reached forward to wrap Neal in his arms, but wasn't sure if he'd welcome that much physical contact. He tentatively rested his hand on Neal's back, and when he didn't flinch or move away, Peter began rubbing small circles on his charge's back. After a second, Neal made a scrabbling motion toward the night-stand. Realizing what was happening, Peter calmly handed him the mixing bowl. Neal rose up on his hands and knees and purged the contents of his stomach. Peter pressed his hand against Neal's forehead, and held him close with one arm around waist while he vomited. His body shook as all the awful memories and the whiskey tried to expel itself from his stomach. Peter quietly handed him the water bottle so Neal could swish out his mouth.

Peter momentarily set the bowl on the nightstand and tucked the blankets around Neal again. He smoothed his dark hair back out of his face. "I'll be right back."

Peter took the foul-smelling bowl and emptied it in the sink. "Alcohol vomit," he thought to himself, "is the worst smell ever." He rinsed and dried the bowl, and brought it back to the nightstand—just in case. Peter tugged gently on Neal's shoulder, until he finally looked up at him. "Here, you threw up your aspirin, take these again."

Neal rubbed at his watery eyes and took the pills and new water bottle from Peter. He drank half and then curled himself into a tight ball with his back to his boss. Peter thought he looked even younger than his twenty-two years. Peter retrieved the bottle from Neal's hand, picked up the cap from the pillow, and put it on the overly crowded nightstand.

"Neal, do you want me to stay, or go?" Peter gently gripped Neal's shoulder. Neal shrugged, and pulled the blanket up higher. Peter could barely see his eyes peering over the blanket.

"Okay, how about this: I stay until you tell me to go."

Neal nodded, and closed his eyes. Peter, still unsure if his presence was welcome, decided that if Neal wanted him to leave, he'd say so. Until then, though, Peter decided he'd do his best to make Neal feel secure. He sat down on the bed and protectively rubbed Neal's back. It didn't take long for the emotionally spent Neal to fall asleep. When Peter heard his breathing regulate into slow, deep breaths, he carefully stood and made his way to the door. As an after thought, he headed back to the large easel in the corner of the room. He quietly lifted it up and turned it so it would be among the first things Neal saw when waking. He took the beautiful sketch of the city's skyline and set it on the table. On a new sheet, Peter wrote in oversized letters:

Neal,

Everything will be okay. I promise. Thank you for trusting me. No one will know about Frank unless you want to tell them. I expect to see you at work tomorrow. I don't care if you've got a hangover!"

Peter hesitated, then added one last line:

"I love you, son."

He set the charcoal down, and glared at the smudges on his fingers. Peter dusted his hand off on his trousers as he headed out the door.

After an amazing dinner—he really had married up, Peter knew—he and El decided to take Satchmo for a walk. The weather was perfect-not too warm, not too cold. Elizabeth could tell something was bothering her husband. Over the years he had spent chasing Neal, he developed what she referred to as "The Neal Look." As Neal and Peter's relationship progressed and their trust developed, she'd seen less and less of it. Neal had been such a huge part of Peter's life, on and off again for the past decade nearly, that Elizabeth realized Peter considered Neal a son. And she was okay with that.

A few blocks into the walk and Elizabeth finally squeezed Peter's hand. "Hey, hon."

"Hon." Peter smiled down at his wife.

"What did Neal do now?"

"We may be chasing the guy who convinced him, and a whole gang of other young men, to drop out of school and pursue crime. Neal kind of had a break down, I guess."

"Oh, poor Neal. We should've had him over for dinner!" El's mothering instincts kicked into hyperdrive.

"No, he wasn't feeling well." Peter said wryly as he remembered exactly how much alcohol he downed earlier.

"Okay, well, you tell him I hope he feels better." El could sense that wasn't all of what was bothering her husband, but she let it go and tugged on Satchmo's leash, and the Burke family finished their walk. It wasn't until much later, curled up on the couch while watching Jeopardy! that Peter finally brought up the last little bit of Neal's conversation.

"El, what's your dad's opinion on spanking?"

Elizabeth sat up and looked at her husband curiously. Peter added, "You know, as a psychologist."

"Well, I was spanked as a kid. Maybe it was more culturally accepted then, when we were kids, though. Um, I suppose he'd say it is the most effective way to discourage future misbehavior. It provides boundaries and consequences, for the child. And that those two things translate into safety and love for a child. Children, young ones especially, crave consistency. If administered correctly, the kid will feel respected, loved and forgiven and won't want to get in trouble again. I could call him, if you want?" El reached for the bowl of popcorn and studied her husband.

"It was definitely more culturally acceptable." Peter smiled at his wife. "I was spanked too, you know, at home and at school."

"What brought this on?" El passed the popcorn to her husband, and curled up against his chest.

Instead of answering her question, Peter asked another, "When is a child too old to spank?"

El laughed. "Um, my dad would probably still spank me if he thought I deserved it, and we're in our 40s! He'd probably say 'when they stop acting in a way to deserve it.'"

"Mine wouldn't hesitate either, I suppose." Peter wrapped his arms around his wife. He breathed in the scent of her hair, and smiled. "I love you, honey."

"Hon." El spoke their shorthand.

"Oh, El. I told Neal I wouldn't tell anyone, but this suspect we're chasing abused him. I think, if I can piece things together based on what he's told me in the past, he, Ellen and his mother moved to Saint Louis when he was about 3 or 4. This guy recruited young boys—12, 13 year olds. He taught them how to pickpocket, to pick locks, you know, petty street theft. I think he taught Neal the basics of conning, because he out-conned Mozzie when they first met." Elizabeth listened to her husband's rambling thoughts. She recognized this as being one of the moments when he needed to process the information, so she hit the mute button on the remote and let him talk. It helped him organize his thoughts.

"This man acted as a surrogate father to him. When we brought him in for questioning, he asked Neal if I spanked him." Peter shifted, a little embarrassed at the memory of the conversation.

"Want me to get you a coffee?" Elizabeth offered, wondering if her husband was ready to talk about this yet.

"In a minute. When Neal and I were talking this afternoon, I asked him about it. Neal said the spanking comment was derisive. As if he was submitting to someone else's authority and it was painful. I guess?" Peter tried to understand how Neal explained it to him earlier, and relate that to his wife. He clarified, "Ammon taught the boys in his street gang that they didn't have to answer to any authority."

Elizabeth immediately understood, "Oh. So it was an insult to Neal, to imply that you are an authority in his life. That's why he asked if you spank Neal?"

"Yeah, that's basically what Neal said. But then he said 'spanking is caring' and that it would 'simplify a lot of things if someone spanked him now.'" Peter was obviously uncomfortable just thinking about the conversation, so Elizabeth stood to start the pot of coffee. He needed a minute alone, El sensed. As his wife left the room, Peter sighed into his hands, and then ran them, frustrated, through his hair.

"Want a scoop of icecream in your coffee?" El called from the kitchen.

Peter stood and wandered into the kitchen. "Yes, please." El sat the two mugs down and rummaged in the freezer. She emerged with a small pint of vanilla.

"Well, once you solve the case, why don't you just ask him?"

"Ask him what?"

Elizabeth gave her husband a disapproving look. "Ask him if he wants you to spank him when he does something he shouldn't."

"It's not that simple, El." Peter picked up his coffee and poked at the floating icecream with his spoon.

"Sure it is. He just told you he craves boundaries in his life." El rested her head against Peter's shoulder, and then picked up her mug. "C'mon. Let's finish Jeopardy! before we miss the final question."

Author's Note:

I love how concerned everyone is for Peter to be a gentle, loving, father figure when he spanks Neal. Believe me...I see him that way too, don't worry. He's not a belt kinda guy! I promise. I'll also try to stop beating Neal up, too much. I like whumping on him, though...

So, if I do write more White Collar stories, ya'll want them to be spanking fics and not gen? Is that what I'm understanding? haha.

I did want to respond to the Guest who left me such an awesome review. I appreciate the feedback. I know that in the show Neal's natural childishness works, but I honestly had no idea he was 37. My "head cannon" has him in his twenties, with Peter in his 40s. I kept it that way for my stories because Neal as middle aged just seemed weird.

Thank you guys for all the feedback and views and everyone who's following my story or marked it as a favorite-and I'm not even finished with it yet!-that means a lot to me.