"Well?" He greets her as she steps out elevator, having been alerted to her presence in the building by one of his overly keen to please probies.

"He's not a sociopath." She delivers without pause, or even a blink.

Peter smiles wide. A big shit-eating I knew it grin. So big he may choke on it.

"But you really didn't need me to tell you that. Did you?"

No, Peter didn't. But Neal did, because as he feared that damn Dr. Summers got in his head. Ever since his nonconsensual drug-influenced therapy session, Neal - the sweet, kind, thoughtful, insecure Neal, who Peter knows hides behind that too bright smile, has been at war with his slippery conman, thieving alter-ego.

"We should go to my office." He offers.

She lifts her chin and huffs, but never the less proceeds through the glass doors which he kindly opens, her high heels clicking rhythmically against the tiles as she steps by, leaving him and his grin expected to follow.

Any other day and he'd make a snide comment, but right now his thoughts are focused on helping his friend. And yes, despite all that had come between them recently with Hagen and the Welsh coins, Peter still loves Neal and only wants to keep him safe. Something the kid is dead set against if his recent unbalanced behaviour is anything to go by. The whole Rebecca fiasco may have allowed Peter to let go of his own anger, but it had the opposite effect on Neal, sending the kid spiraling. He went from being on the verge of a panic attack any second and then back to his overly chipper, over-confident self in the space of 48 hours.

It's become abundantly clear throughout all this - despite his best intentions - he can't give Neal everything he needs to protect himself in this big bad shiny world. Ironically, what he needs most is the truth. After being conned and having his heart broken by Rebecca, now more than ever Neal needs to believe he's capable of change, but he needs to hear it from someone not emotionally invested in him. Someone not influenced by over a decade of intertwining history and one of the best friendships Peter's ever experienced. The conman conning himself is a novel idea, but not one Peter wants to witness the fall out of anytime soon. That's why he'd made the call. It's time to make a change, end the cycle like Jones had said. Giving Neal yet another chance to understand he wasn't born bad, that he has a choice, probably wasn't what Jones had in mind when he said it, but it's how Peter has chosen to interpret it.

"That being said," she continues, pulling Peter's attention back on her, "I feel there are somethings that need to be discussed. It'll be easier to handle him if you can understand his behaviour."

"Oh," Peter laughs, gaze scanning the room to see if anyone else heard the joke. Like he needed advice on handling Neal Caffrey. However, her expression remained solemn, reminding him of his first PT instructor from Quantico. "Oh, you're serious."

"I am." She's tight lipped, dismissing him by looking to the file Peter's only just noticed is nestled protectively against her chest. "Until his sentence is served he's in your care. You need to know the impact of my diagnosis. I must remind you though, details of our discussion are protected by doctor patient confidentiality and your pseudo parent-child relationship does not supersede that."

Peter starts to nod, "Wait," pseudo parent-child what? "What?"

"How else would you like me to describe your relationship with Mr. Caffrey?" She dismisses his addled look with mild irritation and in her ridiculously high high-heels clicks her way up the stairs.

Peter parts his lips to refute. Nothing but air comes out-

Ward of the State?

In my custody?

My responsibility?

Tuh-may-toh. Tuh-mah-toh.

He lets it go.

"You have a diagnosis? So, there'ssomething wrong with him?" He chases her. This wasn't something he'd banked on.

"Having an explanation for his behaviour doesn't mean he's broken Agent Burke."

"Peter," he offers on impulse, feeling the desire to make a personal connection. Lower the animosity a notch. "And of course, sorry I didn't mean to imply-"

"I know." She smiles, a tight slight upward movement of her lip that in anyone else would be considered an unconscious tick.

She's enjoying his discomfort. Peter nods, swallows, and leads the way to his office. Once inside Peter offers her a seat and shuts the doors for privacy, but the blinds stay open. His own paranoia of being alone in a room with a shrink running high.

"So, Neal's-?" Sitting ramrod straight in front of him, his backside barely touches the chair before she's launching into her conclusions with valor.

"Neal Caffrey exhibits repeated patterns of regressive behaviour and poor impulse control, he lacks basic adult control over his emotions, resulting in him behaviourally regressing to an earlier developmental stage in times of acute stress, anxiety or confusion."

"You're telling me your diagnosis is that Neal acts like a child?" Peter chuckles once he processes her quick fire and succinct response, "I already knew that."

He relaxes at the absurdity of it all. Neal was, Peter's sure, a living breathing Peter Pan. He'd given the 'when you decide to grow up' speech many times.

"You can identify the behaviours," She looks pointedly at him, tone as flat and unaffected as if she were ordering her morning coffee, "But if you don't understand why they present you won't handle them successfully when they do."

"Okay, enlighten me." Peter grits his teeth, trying very hard to keep an open mind.

"An adult with a regressive disorder can revert to a childlike state of mind at any time. Neal won't always be aware, or be able to control his behaviour at these times. The shift might not be obvious at first, until it results in a confrontation or argument, usually for not behaving in an age-appropriate way. It could go on unnoticed for days, probably because you deem it normal for him, but won't be resolved until he's been responded to in the way he needs." She pauses. "Emotional escalations, tantrum's, consistent lying to avoid getting in trouble, poor impulse control, needing to be the center of attention, assigning blame, not taking responsibility for his own actions. Does any of this sound familiar?"

In his mind Peter's running through every bone-headed move, every childish disagreement, every stupid action and juvenile response. "He may have acted immaturely on more than one occasion." Every occasion.

"Regressive behaviours most commonly present in adults who experienced continuous abuse or neglect from a young age. It doesn't have to be severe, a disorder can arise from an absent parental figure or the nurture and stability missing from any remaining care giver. In short these negative experiences result in stunted emotional development."

Peter's eyes narrow in on the shrink. That was a very specific example, which he knows fits Neal perfectly. Had Neal shared more with the shrink in one day than with him in the past how many years?

Peter leans forward, pointing at her like a drunk after way too many whiskey's. "Just to get this clear." He's squinting at her now. "You're basically telling me Neal steals things because, in his head, he's a kid and doesn't know any better?"

"No. What I'm providing you with is one explanation as to his motivations." She says plainly to his accusing tone. "When a child does something they know they shouldn't it's usually to get the parents attention. Children always want attention Agent Burke and unfortunately a lot of the time they only get it when they are misbehaving."

"So Neal breaks the law to get attention?"

"Allegedly breaks the law."

"Allegedly." Peter groans.

"Yes." She says like it's that simple. "But specifically, your attention."

"What do you know about my involvement with Neal?" He asks slyly, suspecting the Caffrey charm might be responsible for this very handy get out of jail free card.

"Only what you and he have shared. And his file." Her eyes fall to the folder still held firmly in her hands.

"Well, you know I'm the one that caught him. Twice! That it took three years of hard work and in that time he got to know me as well, if not better, than I did him. Little bastard even sent me birthday cards from jail."

"I do." There's that smile again. It irked Peter immensely.

"Then you also know Neal can charm his way in and out of just about any situation. He doesn't need to break the law to get attention. He just has to walk in the room."

"True. When he is feeling secure in his relationships I'm sure Neal is a very confident and capable young man with artistic talent." She produces a drawing of herself from the folder she's yet to relinquish and shows it to him.

It's one of Neal's for sure. Of course he sketched the shrink while she was trying to talk to him.

"And when he's not?" Peter forces himself to ask.

"He regresses to childish behaviours, experiences the same thoughts and engages in the same coping mechanisms as a child would. In those moments, he is a child." She reaches out, taking the picture back. "But as I was saying, he specifically wants your attention."

Peter blinks at her. "How am I different to anyone else?"

She stares at him, cool green eyes boring directly into his, making it clear she isn't wasting her breath unnecessarily.

Peter drops his gaze first. "So how do you fix something like this?" He huffs, swallowing heavily, keen to get to the part where he can do something productive instead of ruminating on just how far he's fallen into the rabbit hole where Neal Caffrey's concerned.

"It's not something I can fix."

"So, what? I gotta cut my losses and just let him ruin his life? He's a lost cause because I did my job, because I didn't realize by chasing him I was encouraging him to break the law! Because all the kid wanted was someone to notice him!"

Peter had stood, pushing his chair away hard enough to slam into the window behind his desk and paced the length of the room by the time he finished his little tirade.

The shrink merely uncrosses her legs, shifting to the edge of her seat. "I said it wasn't something I can fix, you on the other hand…"

"Me?" Peter turns, advancing on her.

For her part, she doesn't even flinch. "It's clear you've been an authority figure in his life for a very long time. Once he was placed in that submissive role in your custody you began filling a greater need, playing the role of pseudo parent by taking responsibility for him, you allowed his childish nature to be prominent."

"So this is my fault?" Peter huffs, "Neal asked for the anklet! I didn't get any kicks out of owning his ass for four years."

Lie, lie, lie!

Peter willed his mind to quiet. Okay, so maybe he'd had a soft spot for the kid from the start. Had felt bad when the adorableness that is quintessentially Caffrey got sentenced to a supermax with rapists and murders instead of a white collar federal prison. He'd pulled strings in the beginning to ensure the kid's safety on the inside. He trusted the system, but couldn't live with himself if anything happened to take away or dampen that endearingly naïve spirit.

"Your relationship is important to him. I suspect if you keep filling those gaps of positive reinforcement from his childhood he won't need to act out to get attention."

Peter blinked. Staring open mouthed, unsure what the hell she'd just said.

"In short Peter," her tone manages to be patronizing and empathetic at the same time. "When Neal acts like a child, treat him like one."

"What? How?"

"Be a parent, understand him, teach him, give Neal the comfort and reassurance he needs." She begins to stand. "My advice is join him in his games, indulged him and most importantly, ignore the negative behaviours. Giving him attention when he's done something wrong will only make him repeat the behaviour not stop it."

Peter balks, shaking hands reaching to massage the nape of his neck. "Look, this is the FBI not daycare. I called you in to tell him he had choices, I - I can't-"

"Forcing him to act like an adult will only create more anxiety and stress and deepen the regression. He might be aware of how childish he's acting and be humiliated by it after, but in the moment, he won't be able to stop it." She bends to pick up her handbag. "The choice isn't his, it's yours."

She leaves him with those damning words. Sashaying out the door and down the stairs before he can even think of an appropriate response.

What he'd intended as a quick fix to make it easier for him to move to Washington and potentially let Neal roam the world unsupervised has opened a can of worms he can't put back. It's also called into question his handling of Neal since day one. Now he can't help but think had he done this sooner, wondered harder about the 'why' over the 'what', things could have been so much simpler between them these past three years. The whole mess with James, Hagan and Rebecca might never have happened.

Peter flashes back on just about every argument they've ever had. Neal being juvenile, then hurt and tearful more than once when Peter has lost his cool. Suddenly that annoying unpredictable behaviour was making sense. The running away made sense. Had anyone feared for Neal's safety before Peter came along? He'd like to think so, but Peter now suspected he may have been the only one who had ever gone looking for him. James Bennet was an asshole, but what about his Mom? Did she ever try to look for her son? Peter knows Neal will likely never tell him. Luckily a certain someone has possibly already dropped the answers he needs right in his lap.

…

Elizabeth arrives home and drops her handbag by the door, keys on the mantel and herself into the chair next to her husband, propping her elbows on the dining room table with a playful grin at the familiar sight.

"You look tense." The 'what did Neal do this time?' Not required. There has only ever been one person to put that particular expression of wariness on her husband's face.

Peter looks up, all earnest and wanting, just like a certain blue-eyed criminal they both know and love, but doesn't speak.

Elle recoils, her own weariness from a long day of event planning, wine and caviar tasting forgotten. "Hon, what is it?"

Sighing, Peter reaches for his beer set next to the open laptop, swilling the last drops and fetching another before retaking his seat, Elle waiting him out. "You know when I arrested him, never in my wildest dreams did I think one day I'd be calling Neal Caffrey my best friend."

Elle knows she looks confused. As right she should. He and Neal had been friends for years now. They'd seen some tough times together. The fact that they should never have been, shouldn't even have had the opportunity to be anything more than catcher and catchee, should have come up right at the start of whatever this was, not over halfway through.

"Hon you've spent most, if not your whole career, hell nearly our whole marriage chasing Neal." Elle offers with a smile. Forced, but still a smile. "The four years he was in jail was the only time you didn't talk about him."

Except when you did, she thinks but doesn't say, because frankly there's always been something about Neal that made him Peter's centre of attention. Whether it be the Interpol alerts or prisoner updates Peter collected like report cards, not a week went by without him being mentioned. He was like Peter's kid from a previous relationship. Someone she was expected to accept into their lives without question, yet have no real say how he's raised. And despite being fully grown, it did feel like Peter was raising him. The anklet reversing time, turning Neal back into the vulnerable and dependent child she's always suspected him of being.

"Because it was my job to catch him." Peter continues, completely oblivious to her thoughts. "And I did. Then I moved on." Peter smacks his face with both palms, covering his eyes and issuing a low growl of frustration, causing Elle to jump.

"Hon?" She winces, sloshing his beer when she reaches for his hand.

Peter looks up. Elle had lost her smile.

"Sorry, I'm sorry I-" He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, then another, reaching for his fresh beer and taking another long, long swig. "This new shrink has got into my head."

"Of course, I forgot that was this week. What did she say?"

Peter shakes his head, laughs. The kind of unhinged sound she's heard many times from couples near the end of their tether trying to plan their perfect event. Before she can ask, Peter starts talking again.

"Neal was still just a kid when I caught up with him, but I didn't let myself see it. I saw him as a conman. Still see him as a conman, but-"

"Can't conmen be kids too?" Elle offers, pouring herself a glass of Merlot from the bottle she'd swiped off the rack while he'd been trying - and failing - to find his words.

"They can." Peter sighed. "But-"

"But?" She sips, giving him a lower lidded stare over the rim. "Hon, you've really lost me. Want to start from the beginning?"

He stares back at her. Maybe the beginning would be good. He needed to get this out, get it out before it ate him alive and left him looking like one of Valerie Hegarty's decaying paintings she and Neal had liked so much.

"Rebecca." Peter reaches for his beer, gripping the bottle like a lifeline. "The files she had on us. On Neal. She had extensive information on Neal's life. Stuff even the FBI didn't have."

"You told me Neal grew up in witness protection. You think she got it from the Marshals?"

"Wouldn't be the first dirty deal they've done, but I'm not so concerned how she got it. It's what she had that concerns me." He pauses, looks Elle dead in the eye.

"What is it?" She wonders what could be in there that Peter's never known, or at least presumed to know. Why, if he wasn't sure, did he never press for answers.

Peter looks at her thoughtfully. "Has Neal ever spoken about his childhood to you?"

Elle thought hard about her answer, eventually deciding to be concise and as truthful as possible. "No."

And he hadn't, not with his words. And not wittingly.

"Elle?"

Peter could obviously read it in her tone, the way her eyes dropped to stare into her now empty glass, the one she'd buried her face in the second the truth, but only technically, dropped out of her mouth.

"He's never told me anything." She says trying to keep an airiness she doesn't feel. "But that doesn't mean I haven't… inferred… things."

"Inferred?" He repeats, expression open and wanting.

She wants to slap him. He looks honestly confused and for the love of Satchmo there's no way he can really be this dense. "Didn't you ever wonder why Neal… turned out the way he did?" Elle winces at her own presumption.

"I thought I knew." Peter's gaze drops. "Now I'm not sure if I've been working off the wrong playbook."

"The shrink?" Elle guesses. Where else would this complete 180 be coming from?

"Let's just say I might have to give more credence to those grey area's Neal likes to play in so much." Fingers splayed, hands once again find his hairline. "I've always thought it was a simple choice, to do the right thing."

"Only if you're taught what the right thing is." She sighs, shaking her head and pours a second glass. If she has a headache tomorrow so be it.

Looking up, ready to voice her opinion on Neal's psyche since Peter is obviously having trouble telling her what he thinks, she's struck dumb by the sudden ghostly pallor of his skin.

"I'm such an ass." Peter downs the steadily warming beer in one gulp. "I've spent every day since I took him on as my CI trying to get him to do the right thing, assuming he knew the difference between right and wrong, that all he had to do was a make a choice. And each time he's made the wrong choice I've raked him over the coals for it."

"He needs boundaries." She offers lamely, only wanting Peter to feel less shitty about himself right now.

"And apparently he uses those boundaries, pushes them constantly to prove I care about him. It's messed up. This is not how I saw this turning out. Not by a mile. All this time I was stupidly assuming Neal Caffrey was a cocky kid who conned and stole because he could, because it was fun and he didn't care about the consequences. I never once considered the possibility that he never learned what consequences were. That he was doing these things because it was the only way he knew to get attention, to get my attention."

"Not all traumatised children grow up to become criminals." Elle surmises sadly.

Peter had gotten up part way through his tirade and started pacing the living room, stopping short in a brisk turn at her words.

"What makes you say he was traumatised?"

The question's not really a question she knows, but answers anyway. "Hon, you wouldn't be this upset if whatever is in that file wasn't something really, really bad."

He deflates. All the tension, anger and frustration escaping him in one long sigh. Pulling out the file in question, the one he'd been hiding under a stash of fresh FBI cases, Peter carefully opens to the back page.

Elle eyes him warily, takes the offered pages and quickly scans for the pertinent information, eager to finally learn what the hell was going on. The answers to her questions hit her like a poke in the eye. Swift and over in seconds, but the discomfort lasting long after.

The words were there, right in front of her, big and black and life altering for one already lonely little boy. A death certificate, sequestered at the back, filed with other innocuous documents like social security numbers and tax returns.

"Who's Ruth Brooks?" She asks, but doesn't need to. Peter had already told her about Danny Brooks when he shared what Neal had told him about growing up in witness protection. They'd laughed, each feeling Neal did indeed look like a 'Danny' and questioning why he'd never used it as an alias.

"Her real name was Ann." Peter supplied. "Ann Caffrey-Bennett."

"What happened to her?" Elle lowered her glass, bracing herself.

Peter swallows. "Ruth Brooks took an overdose of her prescribed Oxy with a side of Meth in the summer of '98."

Elle blinked. Mouth suddenly dry. "And Neal?"

"Neal told me he ran away from home on his 18th birthday, after Ellen told him the truth of who his father was, who he was."

"Does he know about his Mom? I can't imagine finding out his whole life was a lie then losing the only parent he's ever known."

"Don't know. Neal's birthday is in March so he'd have been long gone, but there wasn't a missing person report filed, by his mother or the marshals. As far as anyone cared, Danny Brooks just vanished."

"That's sad."

"It gets worse."

"How could it get worse?"

"According to Rebecca's illegally obtained but well documented history, Ann Bennett essentially died the day her husband admitted to murdering another cop, and Ruth Brooks couldn't care for herself, let alone her three-year-old son."

Elle sipped her wine, focusing on the piles of photos, school and other reports Peter laid out before her, over the laptop keyboard and their dining table. They documented a very sad, very neglected existence, one a toddler should never have experienced.

Putting her hatred for the Marshals who clearly knew but never did anything to help aside, Elle tried to refocus on the original issue. "I still don't understand what this has to do with you and Neal being friends?"

"My entire view of him is based on what I knew of Neal Caffrey con man and art thief." Peter breathes heavily. "Neal Bennet and Danny Brooks are a whole different story. How can I be disappointed in him for making stupid decisions when he really doesn't understand why they're stupid? Neal's been alone his whole life. No Dad to love him, teach him right from wrong, a mom incapable of looking after him. The shrink confirmed he isn't a sociopath,"

Well duh.

"But she says he has something called a regressive disorder where-"

"Neal regresses to childish behaviour when emotionally distressed." She states with confidence. Peter's looking at her like she's bugged his phone. "Hey I Google. What else do you think I do when you miss dinner most nights?"

"You knew?" He's defensive, has no real cause, but she sees why he might think he does.

"I pondered." She admits, pouring again to buy herself time. "I'm no expert but after that night he spent here when he was drugged-"

Peter sniggers, "which time?"

"The first," she nods lightly, after a short thoughtful pause. "Then the couple of days he stayed here, you remember, after going after that nasty Agent you hit?"

"Fowler" Peter interjects, anger still present at mention of his name.

"All the other times he was drugged now you mention it."

"Okay I get it."

She smiled. "The Neal we saw on those occasions was so different, hurting and helpless I believe you said that first time trying to justify yourself to Hughes-"

"You did." Peter nods, sighs. "He just wants people to see him."

"Well you do. All those times you brought him home, you took care of him like any parent would and look how well he responded."

"He responds pretty much the same when I yell at him too." Peter smirks. "Good or bad, it's the attention that matters to him most."

"Which means someone else will always be able to pull his strings." Elle pats his clasped hands.

"Kate and Adler, James, Hagen and Rebecca, they all used him by taking advantage of what Neal wanted most. Confirms how easy he is to con if you know what buttons to push. I should just be grateful Mozzie isn't as morally corrupt as he is criminal. If Mozzie was to take full advantage of that trust, Neal would be on the run tomorrow, hands down."

Elle closes her eyes. The dull thud, thud, thud of guilt going off in her chest suddenly getting stronger and faster. "Better add me to that list."

"What, why?"

"I've used him, the same way others have. After the car accident, I told him to lie to you, I didn't ask, I just told him he was going to do it. When you were arrested, I told him to get you out by any means necessary. I manipulated that part of him that I knew would obey, consequences be damned."

"Hon, that's not the same." Peter started to say.

Elizabeth shook her head, hair flying out of place. "I used him, knowing full well the risk and danger I was putting him in. But I didn't care, because I knew he could make it happen. Just like that time with the tape of the corrupt judge. I did it for you."

"I did it for you." Peter repeated. Elle looked at him. "That's what he said to me when he admitted stealing the coins. I did it for you."

Elle's eyes widened as she saw him reach the same conclusion she already had about Neal. Knowing she was part to blame-

"Hon I'm so sorry, I-."

"It's okay." Peter bites his lower lip.

Such a Neal move. So many similarities between them, Elle can't help but wonder… is there more than she knows? Could she really be a step mom to an international art thief?

"I'm the one that should be sorry. I've blame Neal for every wrong move he makes, but I use his skills when it suits. No wonder the kid's so confused about what's okay and what's not."

There's tears in her eyes. Too much wine she decides. But then she pours the last of the bottle, Peter watching her.

"I should still apologise. It might help him understand this isn't all on him." Peter's gaze doesn't waver from her, doesn't even blink, which is a tell in of itself. She drops the empty bottle on the table harder than intended. "He's upstairs isn't he?"

"Kid was shot. By his girlfriend." Peter gives her a pathetic look.

Elle rolls her eyes. "I thought it was a graze?"

"I just didn't want him being alone."

Elle breaths and regroups, hoping Neal really was asleep up there and not ease dropping on the stairs somewhere. "Okay. We've both messed this up. But nobody's perfect first time around. We can fix this." Seeing his less than convinced look Elle reaches past her glass and grabs his hands in hers. "We haven't failed. He's still here. There's still time."

...

"Peter, that you?"

He'd tried sneaking a look in the guest room, his only intention to check on the kid before going to bed himself. It had been a long night. He and Elle were beat, they had a lot to do in a short time, but sleep was the most pressing need right now, for everyone in the Burke household.

"Yeah, it's only me, you alright?"

"Ah, no." Neal answered tightly, trying to sit up. "What the hell happened?"

"You were shot at remember." Peter joined him, settling himself on the bed, pushing Neal back down.

"Yeah, unfortunately." Neal pokes the bandage on his arm. "I meant why am I here?"

"You fell asleep in the car on the way home, wouldn't wake up and I wasn't carrying you all the way up to your apartment."

"So you carried me into to your house instead?"

"Way less stairs." Peter grins teasingly, then, watching Neal's eyes tear up with the reminder of the horribleness of the last few day's… "You're gonna be okay you know."

"I am?" Neal tries and fails to hold back a wet chuckle. "Not so sure I like my odds."

"You are." He offers with a smile, voice soft and earnest.

Peter can see Neal frowning through the slither of light filtering in from the hallway.

"This doesn't feel like your couch." He says, grimacing.

Peter notices and takes the pill bottle from the bedside table, palming two as instructed and handing them to Neal with a bottle of water. "It was the guest bedroom."

"Was?" Neal questions in between gulps, handing the water back, resettling into the comfy pillows. Hands curling up to rest underneath his chin.

"Well you've ended up here so often, out your mind on one drug or another that Elle decided you deserved your own room."

"Elle did. Okay." Peter ignores the knowing smile.

Once comfortably lying down again Peter decides now is as good a time as any to get some answers. "Neal, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, why not." Neal was blinking up at the ceiling, clearly meant it sarcastically but Peter, deciding to take the shrinks advice, was going to take the opening anyway.

"When I caught you the first time, you thanked me. Why?"

Neal slumped a little into the bed, burying his face half into the pillows until he was staring steadily at the open door. Peter could feel the tremors coursing through his muscles where they touched, tension seeping out of every pour.

"Neal?" He runs his palm over the duvet covered back, hoping to smooth out the tension the only way he knew how.

"Dr Monroe talk to you?"

Peter lowers his gaze, offering a sad smile. "You know she did."

"I'm not sure how to process it."

His words fade. What more can he say?

"Listening to the shrink describe you as having the mentality of a 6-year-old when emotionally distressed and anxious isn't what I was expecting either."

Neal feels his face heat. The words coming from Peter carrying so much more weight.

"I was grateful." Neal offers simply after a prolonged silence.

"What?"

"The first time." He shifts under the sheets, looks Peter in the eye. "I thanked you for finding me Kate, and for being interested in me." Neal rolled his neck, risking an upwards peek at Peter. "You were the only consistent person in my life that actually gave a damn what I was doing."

"Because what you were doing was breaking the law." Peter points out with a grin.

"Yeah," Neal grins back, aiming the wide bright smile up at Peter with as much mischief as he can muster. "But I guess it's nice to be wanted."

"What about your mom?"

"My mom?" Neal questions dreamily, caught off guard. "I ran away from home and nobody came looking. What does that tell you?"

Peter bit his tongue. If Neal had not cared to look his mother up in over a decade, no use hurting him with the truth now.

"I know she killed herself." Neal says anyway, reading his look.

"God, I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Neal turns, there's a sheen to his cheeks that wasn't there before. "Not like they could put out a missing person ad for a kid that didn't exist, right?"

"Ellen told you."

"She found me." Neal nods. "Just like you."

The comparison is clear. Ellen was like a mother to Neal, and Peter was… Peter.

He doesn't ask more. Doesn't need to hear how Neal at the little age of three lost everything and everyone in his small world. Doesn't need to think that when this kid was alone and scared and wanting a family badly, Peter was celebrating his acceptance to the White Collar division, soon to be asking a very lovely gallery assistant out to an Italian restaurant that would change the course of his life for the better. While Neal arrived in New York without anything but raw talent Peter was moving on and up in his life with the full support of his family. He guesses it's easy to do the right thing when all the right things happen to you.

"Hey," something occurs to him. Something he's never asked before. "Why do you run?"

"Because I can. Nothing to stay for." Neal shrugs.

Peter's not sure that's the whole truth, but rolls with it. "You have something to stay for now."

"I know." Neal breathes out slowly, a relaxing release of breath, no pent-up anxiety or distress evident. "I never thought the anklet would make me feel so… safe. I'll miss it."

They fall silent. Peter stays sitting on the bed, not realising until he's already mid action that he'd taken to running his hand over those tense muscles again, trying to help the young man underneath the covers relax enough to sleep. It's then that it hits him. Their whole relationship has been based on Neal stealing and him chasing. Neal wants his freedom. Peter wants him to stop breaking the law. But breaking the law keeps Peter in his life indefinitely, one way or another. So no matter how much Neal wants to be good, he's probably scared that'll mean Peter won't have a reason to be interested in him if he does.

Supporting any request to the DOJ to end Neal's sentence would certainly make their move to D.C much easier. Removing the anklet would mean Neal could freely visit whenever he needed. Or whenever Peter needed him to, which would be a lot. It would be hard not having the safety net of knowing where the kid was all the time, but Peter knew he had ways of keeping an eye on his boy, no matter where he went, anklet or no anklet. He'd just have to prove to Neal he's in this for the long haul.

Neal's eyes eventually slide close and Peter leans in, whispering gently into his ear. "You won't get the chance to miss it. I'm going make sure of that."