Hi everyone! Yes, I have re-emerged from the depths of time and I have with me a new chapter. Not a whole lot of action in this one, but a massive amount of emotional tension. I hope I didn't throw it all out too fast. Anyway, I've been waiting for this scene for a while so I hope ya like it :)

Chapter 9

When Neal met Peter's eyes at the kitchen table he felt a sinking pit in his stomach. There was that damn feeling again. Why they hell couldn't he just let it go? Why did he allow himself to get to the point where he started to care again?

"Sleep well last night?" El smiled as she slid a coffee towards Neal.

"Of course," came the lie.

The old lies with the same smile of conjured confidence.

"Well, I'm off," El said as kissed Peter and waved goodbye.

Neal waited for the stone in his stomach to stop sinking, but it kept descending as if there was nothing in Neal but an enteral void. Perhaps there was. Maybe all that is in Neal is deep nothingness. It sure felt like it. Most of this universe is nothing, Neal reasoned. There is more space between our cells than anything else. We are empty. More no one than someone. Perpetual nothing, on the most microscopic level, keeps anyone from ever touching. Nothingness, separated by yet more nothingness. The concept used to be comforting. Yet with those thoughts came a bout of sickness.

What will happen to Peter if Neal ran? Peter did vouch for Neal. Peter vouched for me. The words felt strange floating through Neal's head. He didn't have a place to put them. Neal had expertise, but so did others. Caffrey was not arrogant enough to believe himself the be-all and end-all of art crime. 'James Bond' he may be, but human he was also. If an art and crime expert was all Peter wanted, it would make so much more sense to hire a trained expert. Not a self-taught teenage criminal. A dangerous thought flickered around the fringes of Neal's mind; Peter cared.

"You ready?" Peter asked, picking up his computer bag.

Neal nodded. He glanced at Peter and quickly swept the thought away. It was stupid, unprofessional. A childish hope. As the con gathered his things, he set his mind back towards Mozzie and Venice. The life he'd lived and loved. Hotel rooms and the bubbling excitement of planning a heist. Playing chess with Moz. The sensation of being lost in a forgery. Paint on his clothes, hands, smeared over his face. But with those thoughts came the rest of the memories. Always looking over your shoulder. Cold nights on the run. Always moving. Distance. Dark corners. Dark dreams.

Peter shot a glance at Neal, "You all right?" He asked.

Neal's face instinctively schooled into an easy, expression, complete with a blinding grin, "Yeah, you?"

"I'm good," Peter paused. He looked towards Neal, "But you're not. You haven't been all morning."

Neal's face registered a flicker of surprise.

"It may have taken me a while," Peter continued, "but I can tell when you're lying."

Neal scoffed, "Really? How?"

"It's your smile."

"My smile's perfect!"

"Exactly."

Neal's eyebrows creased, "I don't…"

"When you smile, actually smile, when you're genuinely happy, it's lopsided."

Neal coughed, "It's so not."

"And," Peter continued, disregarding the interruption, "it's smaller. You try to swallow it. So it doesn't sit on your face for as long."

"How observant, Dr Watson." Neal deadpanned, though the smile Peter described was beginning to slip over the corners of his face.

"There!" Peter laughed, "that's a real Caffrey smile."

Neal's face quickly morphed into a scowl, though it held little weight as his eyes were still light.

"When you lie, your expression is perfect, like a stock photo model. Your grin is even and your back straight. You're good Neal, really good. You would have to know what you normally look like, messy teenager and all, to notice the difference."

"Damn! Now how can I steal anything now?" Neal teased, "One look at my poker face and you'll have me down."

"So, you still haven't answered the question," Peter pressed.

The lightness in Neal's eyes faded, "What question?"

"Neal," Peter asked, "what's going on?"

"Well, obviously I'm about to head into the FBI for my daily dose of child labour –"

"Neal." Peter's voice was serious but kind. "I want you to know that you can talk to me."

Neal rolled his eyes, "I do talk to you."

Peter laughed, "I'm not sure you ever really talk to anyone, kid."

Neal shifted in my seat, "what would you know?" The words were quiet, muffled. Peter heard them anyway.

"You're right," he conceded. "I don't know. There's only so much I can infer from your range of smiles. I just," Peter ran a hand though his hair. "I just want you to know that if you're ever willing to open up and talk. I'm here."

Neal stared, he leant back against the wall behind him.

Peter shifted his weight.

"I care about you, kid."

There it was. That sentence which contained so much hope and so much fear. The words fell clumsily in the space between the two men. Neal tensed.

"Me and El both. I just… worry about you."

"I can look after myself."

"I know you can kid, it's just-"

Neil bristled the word 'kid'. His hard glare fixed on Peter.

"I'm not a kid." He snapped. The words fell heavily, each one hitting the floor with a thud. Frustration clouded Neil's face, he made no effort to push it away. He was angry. Peter could see the emotion etched in his expression. He wanted Peter to notice. He wanted his emotions to be known. His real emotions, not just the facade he conjured for a con.

Peter looked at Neal in surprise.

This was not 'normal' Caffrey behaviour. Normally Neal wouldn't fight or glare. He learned long ago that its far easier to embrace the labels people assign to you, to twist them to your advantage. It's so much easier, for everyone, if you just pretend. But it wasn't as easy as it once was.

Neal Caffrey had lived a very different life before he met Peter and El. It wasn't a particularly bad life. Or at least Neal never thought so. It was fine. He was fine. So, what he didn't have a family? He had Moz. Yes, he had to fend for himself. But so do millions of others. It's just life. You play the hand you're dealt. Cashing in on that hand sent Neal down a spiral of art forgery, cons and crime. But at least then he could be someone else. At least he could hide himself.

It's easy to hide in yourself if no one cares. Here Peter was, saying that he cared. That El cared. Neal hated to admit it, but the most infuriating fact was that Neal Caffrey cared. He cared so damn much. He cared so much it feels like his body would tear in two. He shouldn't feel like this. It's stupid. It's irrational. Neal was done with the rational. Dancing as if every word, every action, every expression was a move to gain power. Neal Caffrey was done pretending.

Peter opened his mouth as if to say something, but before he could the floodgates opened.

"I am not a kid! I'm not stupid or innocent. And I don't need you! I don't need anybody. I'm fine by myself. I've been living on my own for four bloody years and I've never needed a soul."

Peter stepped back, unsure of when he had lost control of the conversation.

Neal threw his hands in the air, "I'm sick of you treating me like I'm someone who needs help. You have me here to help you, remember! If you don't need me for your cases then go ahead and send me back to prison, where at least there I'd be free of you looking over my shoulder all time."

Neal gaze fixed on Peter. The fire in his eyes spluttered when he saw the confused and hurt expression flash over Peter's face. But his anger ignited again when Peter's expression shifted to one of compassion.

He didn't need compassion. He didn't want pity.

"Don't you dare look at me like that! I am not some kicked dog. I'm not a kid. I don't need this." Even to his own ears Neal's plight sounded childish, but he was too angry to care.

"Do you want to know why I agreed to work for the FBI?" Neal drew his verbal knife, intending to slash Peter away. "It was to get away from Keller. It had nothing to do with this job, or going straight, or you! I was only ever going to stay till I could get away. I did not sign up for this."

Peter just stood there. He leant back against the kitchen counter behind him. His gaze locked firmly onto Neal's.

Peter's mind ticked over Neal's words, trying to figure out the 'this'Neal did not sign up for. More than anything it sounded like Neal was fighting against himself.

Peter choose his words carefully.

"I did," he said.

"What?"

"I signed up for this." Peter said. "I didn't just hire you because you good at what you do Neal. I hired you because I know that under your act of Bravo, the mask you put between yourself and the world, you're a good person. I know you think you don't need me. I know you say you need no one. But I need you. Neal, El and I, we need you in our lives. We want you in our life."

Neal's eyes were firmly pinned on Peter.

"Whatever your reasons for coming, they don't matter. That's in the past. Your still here. What matters is who you are now." Peter stepped closer to Neal and place his hands on the kid's shoulders.

"Neal," the words cut, "no matter what you think, you are a good person. I believe you are."

Neal pulled out of Peters hold. "I'm not," he mumbled.

"Neal, yes you are, you just need to-"

"No! I'm not!" Neal's gaze hit Peter. "I'm not who you think I am. If I was a good person, I wouldn't have to hide or lie. I wouldn't feel the rush I feel when taking something that's not mine, what it that? That's not 'good'. And I certainly wouldn't be planning to rob the FBI."

Peter Burke stopped.

The words sunk to the bottom of the room and seeped through the floorboards.

Neal's eyes widened as he realised had just escaped his mouth. His throat began to constrict. That it. That's what all this guilt lead to. Peter knows.

Opps! There it is. What do you guys think? Let me know! :D Reviews are life