"You look better," Peter announced from the door of Neal's new room.

Neal did look better, sitting up in the bed, groomed and cleaned shaven. After the doctor's early visit in which he'd expressed his satisfaction at his patient's progress and had discharged Neal from the CCU, Peter had gone home to see his family and get a shower and shave of his own. It was now close to lunch, and Neal, propped on several pillows in a much larger, more comfortable-looking bed in a much less confined room, had been frowning at the contents of the plate that had been placed in the hospital table positioned in front of him.

But now he looked up and grinned. "So do you. Probably smell better, too."

"No doubt," Peter agreed as he placed the bag he'd brought on the sofa in front of the large window that, sadly, only looked out at the parking deck. "I brought you a change of clothes. Are they still gonna spring you this afternoon?"

"That's what they said." Neal nodded at the IV still hanging by his bed. "Want to keep me hooked up a while longer and feed me." He looked questionably at the plate before him. "Then, if the tests are good, they'll send me home." Peter started to relay Elizabeth's message, but Neal immediately cut him off. "To my apartment, Peter," he specified. "I don't need babysitting. I need rest. In my own bed."

"I understand," Peter chuckled, moving towards his bedridden friend. "But you know how Elizabeth is."

Peter was almost surprised when Neal laughed. "Yeah, I know. But tell her I wouldn't refuse a real meal at some point." He again glanced at his lunch. Now that he was closer, Peter understood his reaction. A bowl contained something very green. Neal looked up. "Creamed Spinach, " he supplied. "It's supposed to build up my blood."

Peter frowned. "Can't they just give you a pill or something?"

"You'd think." Neal looked up, his smile fading. "So, how did you find me? Creedance Branson wasn't on any of my lists." He paused. "You found my notes when you searched my office, didn't you?"

His voice held no challenge, but something in his eyes did. Lord help him when Neal learned about his visit to Synergy Suites.

"I didn't search your office," Peter corrected. "I looked at your calendar, your emails, and in your desk for your notepad. I knew you'd have one when Ms. McBride told me about the troubles you'd been having at the gallery. And when I learned about your car." Well, two could play this game. "Why didn't you tell me, Neal?"

Neal held his gaze steadily. "Because I thought Neal Cafrrey was going to ruin my life, and I wanted a few more days before he did." There it was. The answer with no equivocation. "I was going to tell you after the showing."

His demeanor, straightforwardness, and his referring to himself, or Neal Caffrey, as a totally separate person, indicated that Nathan Clay was back in control of his facilities. Peter not only believed him, but he also understood his reasons.

"You were there, right?" Neal continued almost hesitantly, Not indicative of Nathan Clay, "At the Showing. Did you see my paintings?"

"Some of them," Peter answered. "I kinda got distracted when the guest of honor didn't show."

"Yeah, I guess that was to be expected." Neal's laugh held little humor. "The biggest day of my life, and I missed it."

"Well, it just adds to your reclusive artist vibe. According to McBride, the event was a financial success even with the artist being a no-show."

"It wasn't about the sales," Neal said. "I mean, sales are good and everything, but that wasn't the point of Fresh Perspectives. Not really."

"I think I understand," Peter replied. "Well, as much as a non-artist can." He knew this was important. He had an idea about what Neal had been trying to show with Fresh Perspectives. When he continued, his tone was more serious. "I know Fresh Perspectives is about more than one, two, or three-point perspectives and vanishing points." He watched Neal closely, wondering how he'd take his next words. "Painting is more to you than just paint on a canvas; it's how you express yourself."

The slight widening of Neal's eyes showed his surprise.

"Yes." Came the quick reply. "And more than that, it's...how I process things." Peter waited, and after a moment, Neal continued. "It's hard to explain my...actually, it isn't hard at all." His voice grew terse. "Neal Caffrey's feelings, his emotions overwhelmed his reason, blinded him to the truth, and lead to reckless decisions." Peter couldn't really argue that one. "My solution to that flaw is to take time to access things, to know what is real and what isn't. I have to sort through my feelings and make sure my decision is based on reality, not wishful thinking. Just because you want something to be true doesn't make it so." It sounded mature and, yes, even wise. But there was a part of it that sounded jaded, wounded even, and Peter felt some responsibility for that. "This project, Fresh Perspectives, was my way of working through all that."

"And have you?" Peter prompted. "Worked through it?"

"I'm not sure it will ever be filed under Case Closed," he replied thoughtfully. "But I think I've made progress. But it was important that you were there, Peter. That you saw and understood what it meant."

Peter remembered when Neal had talked about his doubts about doing a showing at his gallery. One had been he didn't want to seem self-serving. But the real reason for his hesitancy had been that he wasn't sure he was ready to put himself out there. His art was a window to his soul, to his heart, and putting it on display made him uncomfortable, and beneath his Nathan Clay facade, he was uncomfortable now. Especially given what his paintings had shown and what he'd shared in his disoriented state in that horrible apartment. He'd been weak, his defenses had been down, and it had been important to him that Peter knew how he felt. He clearly didn't remember any of that exchange, or he wouldn't be suffering through it now.

He decided he'd try to help him out. "I didn't get to look through all of them," Peter began, "but I did see some of the people you included in them. June, Mozzie..." He managed a half smile, hoping he already knew the answer. "Did I make the list this time?"

Again, Neal's gaze was steady. "Yes," he replied. "After all, everything really comes down to you and me, doesn't it?"

Boy, was that a loaded question. But he guessed it was valid; after all, Neal's life in New York, his connections to June, Elizabeth, and even the team at White Collar had all started with the two of them. And that work agreement they'd entered into.

"Must be in the two-point section," Peter deflected. "That's the only one the ladies didn't get through before we went on the search for Nathan Clay."

"It was," Neal agreed. "That's the one I started with. The two-point perspective is my favorite."

"I can see why," Peter grinned. "Neal Caffrey. Nathan Clay. I'd guess it appeals to your...dual nature." He then thought about what Neal had said. "You started there," he repeated. "So not only was I on the list..." he let it trail off and looked at Neal almost expectantly.

He wasn't disappointed. "You were at the top of it."

"Wow," Peter said, "That is progress." After all, he hadn't made the need-to-know-Neal-was-alive list at all. Originally. "So what am I doing in the painting? Glaring at a suspect? Arresting someone?"

Neal's eyes softened, and Peter wondered why. "I guess you'll have to wait and see."

"Your gonna make me wait and see?" Peter asked, watching and wondering if Nathan Clay could say what Neal Caffrey already had. "You said you wanted me to know something, to understand it. Why not just tell me?"

"Because it's hard," Neal said bluntly. "I thought it would be easier at the gallery." In all his Nathan Clay glory, Peter mused, surrounded by adoring fans of all ages, where the conversation could only go so far. But Neal was considering saying it now; Peter could tell by the way his gaze had sharpened. "Neal Caffrey made a lot of mistakes," he announced. "But they lead him to you. I might have built a life in France, but it was empty. It was empty because the people who mattered to me weren't there. I regret a lot about my past, Peter, but I don't regret you. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have this life, I might not have any life at all. And I'm glad you want to be a part of it. I'm lucky to call you friend."

Again, he was stunned by Neal's openness, or rather, the articulate honesty of Nathan Clay. Peter felt more affected than Neal seemed to be, so it took him a moment to respond.

"I'm more than your friend," he said, rewarding Neal's truthfulness with some truth of his own. "Me, El, Little Neal." Peter grinned when Neal winced at how he referenced his namesake. "We are your family, and you're stuck with us, for better or for worse. It's time you accepted that."

Finally, some emotion played in Neal's blue eyes. "I think I have," he said softly. "But I've wanted it for so long..." he broke contact, his eyes dropping to the cream of spinach. "I just had to be sure."

"And are you?"

Again Neal met his eyes. "Yeah," he nodded slowly. "I think so. For better or for worse."

WCWCWCWCWCWCWCWCWCWC

"You are looking better than the last time I saw you." Elliot's voice shattered the almost emotional moment. "Agent Burke." Elliot sent him a nod of greeting as he entered the room.

Peter could have laughed at the total confusion that washed across Neal's still-pale face. Elliot crossed the room to stand at Neal's bed. He'd seen the look, too. "Didn't Agent Burke tell you?"

Neal gave him a wary look. "No, he didn't," he replied before returning his gaze to the newcomer. "So he drug you into this?"

Elliot smiled at that. Peter had drug him into it, and he didn't regret it in the least.

Elliot sent an amused look in his direction. "Agent Burke informed me that you were missing," he replied, "and since you had expressed some concern about the Cordero family, I agreed to open the investigation."

"But you told me it wasn't them," Neal reminded him.

"Yes, but one can never be certain," Elliott said. "It could still have been reprisal for your involvement in the Cordero sting." He shook his head. "But I'm glad to know your kidnapping wasn't my fault."

"I completely understand," Peter cut in. "I felt the same way. I'm sorry a deranged artist took you, but I'm just glad it wasn't-" He stopped, eyes going to Elliot. He knew the man knew, but still. "my fault."

Neal looked from one to the other, a look just short of horror on his face. "So the two of you somehow control the actions of every criminal out there?" He huffed. "That Federal Agent Arrogance must be rampant everywhere." His eyes narrowed. "Neither one of you is responsible for me." His eyes flicked to Peter's. "I make my own decisions, right or wrong, and the consequences of those choices are mine alone."

Elliot studied Neal a moment before responding.

"It's not arrogance," he objected. "It's knowing that my decisions put my people, my agents and informants, in harm's way. I never want to be so callous that I forget that."

Peter couldn't have said it better. Sure, he'd taken it to a whole new level with Neal, but Neal had been safe, well safe enough, in prison. Peter had taken him out, taken personal responsibility for him, and put him in the field. Sure, Neal had offered, but it had been out of the desperate hope that once he was out of prison, he'd be able to find Kate. Peter had known that was what had motivated the offer, and he'd exploited it; it was one of many things he wasn't proud of. It had been his job to keep Neal safe and to control him. And controlling Neal Caffrey had been no easy feat. The proof of that sat before him; Nathan Clay, millionaire and artist extraordinaire.

They'd had this discussion in depth when Nathan Clay had come back to New York to help take down the Cordero Crime Family. It had been difficult all the way around, both of them trying to control the other, but they'd finally hashed it out. With the help of Elizabeth, of course, they'd realized it came from a place of concern and care. Not power and control. Things had changed; they had changed. And Fresh Perspectives proved that Neal knew it. That he was ready to start again, to trust again.

"If Branson had taken Ms. McBride instead of you," Peter ventured, "It wouldn't have been your fault, but you can't tell me you wouldn't have felt responsible."

Neal's eyes settled on his. "I would have," he admitted. "She works for me, and my advice is what sent him over the edge."

"See, it's just human nature," Peter responded. "Or any decent human's nature. But sometimes, our actions, our decisions have consequences that we could have never foreseen. You were trying to help the guy."

"Exactly what advice did you give him?" Elliot asked.

"To leave a piece of himself on the canvas." Both men winced at Neal's reply. "I had no idea he was literally doing just that," Neal defended. "What happened to him, anyway?"

"Rubber room, I'd say," Peter muttered.

Elliot put it a bit more tactfully. "He's undergoing evaluation at Mercy General's Psych Ward, but the consensus is he's had a complete psychotic break. I think it safe to say he's-"

"Rubber room bound," Peter finished confidently.

Elliott chucked. "Pretty much, yes. Glad you are recovering," he said to Neal. "How long are they going to keep you here?"

"They're supposed to let me out this afternoon. So, who will be taking my statement, you or Agent Burke?"

Peter knew it wouldn't be him. It couldn't be him.

"The NYPD will catch up with you at some point," Elliot informed them. He leveled Peter with a steady gaze. "Since it had nothing to do with your work for..." he paused, "the Federal Government, the case was referred to the NYPD."

"I see," Neal said. Peter knew Neal understood what the man was saying without saying it, that he knew about his previous work for the Federal Government. "So the two of you can relax," he continued. "I was taken by a maniac who didn't like my artistic advice. It wasn't anyone's fault." His eyes suddenly sparkled with mischief and his mouth quirked in amusement. "Not even Neal Caffrey's."

It was totally unexpected, and both he and Elliot let out a bark of laughter.

"Well, from what I've heard about the man," Elliott mused, still chuckling as he extended his hand. "I think I would like him. Take care of yourself, Mr. Clay," he said. "Art can be dangerous."

"Evidently so," Neal laughed. "Thanks for rescuing me."

"Don't thank me," he returned with a grin. "Thank Agent Burke. He drug me into it. Let me know when you'll be able to check out that Monet for me."

Neal assured him he would be in touch, and the minute Elliot had departed, he turned a speculative gaze upon Peter.

"You went to Elliott because he could look for Nathan Clay." Peter nodded. "You protected me."

Of course he had and he found the wonder in Neal's blue eyes bittersweet. That it still seemed to surprise him was a bit disheartening.

"I'll always protect you," he stated. "And I wanted to protect your..." he hesitated at the phrasing, finally settling on "privacy, too, but if Elliot hadn't gone along with it, I'd have done whatever it took to get you back."

"I know," Neal responded. "I knew that the moment I woke up tied to that chair. I didn't care how you found me, Peter, just that you did. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Neal's confidence in him made not his head but his heart swell. "No matter what you call yourself, Neal or Nathan, you're family, remember? "

"For better or for worse."

"For better," Peter grinned, reaching down and ruffling Neal's now clean hair affectionately. "The worst is behind us."

A/N: Originally, a couple of days ago, in fact, this was the end of the story. I'd planned to let readers guess what Neal's painting of Peter depicted and to reveal it in my next Nathan Clay story. However, since several of you have brought it up, and I have no idea when the next NC story will happen, I've decided to add an epilogue and reveal it now. It might take me a week, or less if I can manage, to get it finished, so just be patient. Thanks for reading, and to all those who took the time to reach out and let me know you enjoyed it. I've missed writing White Collar FanFiction.