Neal felt awful.

He felt like he was going to puke, and his head pounded in his skull with a fury.

Just a normal day after his birthday.

He buried himself in the couch cushions -How did I get here anyway?- with a groan, trying in vain to rub away the headache.

A glass of water was suddenly offered, and Neal took it without a second thought, the option of drugs being temporarily ignored.

"I see you had a busy night." Said Peter above him, arms crossed in a disapproving manner with one eyebrow raised. Neal knew that look. It was the "either you talk or I make you talk" look. He'd used it after Kate died too.

Neal moaned again, hoping to gain a bit of sympathy and a "we'll talk later" as he sipped his water. "Yeah. Remind me never to drink almost seven glasses of wine again." He joked weakly.

"What happened?" Now there's the million-dollar question.

So Neal does what Neal does (second) best; he deflects.

"Peter, I-I'm really tired," he said quietly, putting the glass on the table and laying back down. "Can we talk about this later? When the hangover's gone, for instance." Because if they didn't talk right then, while memories were still fresh, they might not talk about it at all. At least until next year, and maybe Neal would be ready by then. Maybe.

Probably not.

One of the bad parts about beings friend with Peter is that he doesn't take a deflection that easily.

"No, I think we need to talk now." The FBI agent placed a hand on his friends shoulder awkwardly; he wasn't good at stuff like this. "Mozzie said this has been going on since he met you. I know a bit, but maybe you should give me the full story." Neal stiffened, biting his lip.

"Why can't this wait until tomorrow?" He asked quietly.

"Because you're deflecting and I don't want to have to wait another year for you to talk about this," Peter wanted to say.

"Because it's been twenty years and it's still affecting you," is what he actually said.

Almost automatically, Neal corrected him. "Nineteen. It happened when I was nine, so it's nineteen years." He muttered.

"Okay, nineteen years and it's still affecting you." Peter agreed. "Now tell me what's wrong." His tone was gentle, incredibly so, and very different from his Agent Burke tone. Neal noticed the change, not that it made much of a difference.

"Tomorrow," he promised. "I'll tell you tomorrow." And that was the first time Neal lied to Peter. Not just giving him a false assumption, but actually lying to him. He'd never felt that bad afterwards though.

"Neal, don't lie to me." Peter said gently, trying to ignore the hurt that flickered on the younger man's face. "Just tell me what happened."

Slowly, not to jar his head more than needed, Neal sat up, avoiding the agent's eyes. "Fine." He mumbled. Neither of them were completely sure what the "fine" was aimed at.

Pater sat down beside him, one arm wrapped around the consultant's shoulders. "Ready when you are."

Neal gulped, blinking rapidly as memories were suddenly pushed to the surface. "I was nine when it happened." He knew he was close to tears already. Barely five seconds and not one drink to prompt it and he's already about to cry.

His step-father would call him pathetic.

But that's a different story.

One Neal's more than willing to take to the grave.

"I-I was drawing in the front room while my dad was watching the game. Just a normal Saturday, right?" Neal's voice broke, and Peter almost cringed. Neal's voice had never taken that tone, not even while he was grieving for Kate. "There-there was a drive by shooting in the neighborhood. Mom was out for the day, so it was just us in the house. I-I heard the gunshots, and d-dad stood up…" He allowed himself a small sob, placing his head in his hands. "Next th-thing I knew he was o-on the ground." Another quiet sob, as though he were trying to hold back. "There w-was s-s-so much b-blood. I-I didn't k-know what t-to do." That's where he broke.

Nineteen years of undelt with issues (at least one of them) and the much too fresh images were too much. It was the second time Neal had cried because of what happened. Peter simply sat with him, rubbing the conman's shoulder soothingly and pulling him in to a one-armed hug.

"M-mom got h-home a little w-while later. Sh-she called th-the police." He choked back a sob, and for a second Peter didn't think he would continue. Honestly, he wasn't even sure if Neal should.

"She re-remarried the next year. I-It was like m-my dad never existed." Peter hushed him gently, ignoring the ever growing awkwardness that seemed to come with situations like this when he was involved.

"Neal, stop." Peter's words were quiet, and most would say soothing. The younger man could barely hear him over his own memories.

But stop he did. The words tumbling out of his mouth -seemingly of their own accord- halted. For one blissful moment, his mind stopped working too.

Moment's pass though.

The younger man sobbed quietly, his tears finally dieing down. "Sh-she was trying to replace him." He said quietly. "Everyone k-knew it, except h-her. I d-don't think she e-ever did." Peter soothingly rubbed his partners back, thanking the Heaven's above Neal didn't continue. Because if he didn't continue he got everything he wanted to get out, out. So maybe, just maybe, his birthday wouldn't be the same the next year.

Maybe.

"You know," Peter said thoughtfully after a long moment of silence. "I've seen sketches of your dad." Neal stiffened slightly. "While you were on the run. Whenever we got to one of your hideouts there would be sketches scattered everywhere. I never realized it was him. It was actually that trail of pictures that helped us catch you."

He smiled fondly for a moment, and Neal looked at his with puzzled re-rimmed eyes.

"I'm glad we did."

"You know what?" Neal whispered, eyes closing as his head rested on the agents shoulder. "Me too."

{][][}

A/N: Oh my gosh. I just realized something. This is my first ever completed chapter fic on this site. Ever.

*jaw drops*

I've only completed one story before this, and that was when I was nine and it is long gone. This-this is amazing.

I'd like to thank the Academy (of the Star Trek variety) for no apparent reason other than it's always in speeches like this, as well as my amazing reviewers! I'd also like to give special thanks to Sparky, whom this fic was made for in the first place as a birthday gift. *releases confettii*

Whoo hoo! First completed fic! All reviewers will find e-cookies on their doorsteps!

~Piki :B