"Neal, are you even listening to me?" Peter hissed. "Because I feel like I'd have more luck hammering this point home with the damned wall. This is the third and final time I am going to tell you this so you'd better start listening if you weren't before. Reece is on my back night and day about you. He thinks I can't control you. He thinks that you're becoming more of a liability than an asset to this Agency. And far from proving him wrong, you go and hand him reason after reason to prove his point. What the devil is the matter with you? You've been impossible for the last two weeks. Completely impossible and now I'm at my wits end. I really am. I don't need to come in here day after day and have my ass handed to me because you don't know how to cover yours!"

He scrubbed a hand across his face, the other planted firmly on his hip.

Neal, for his part, was staring expressionlessly down at the office floor.

"Talk to me," Peter suddenly said quietly, in a completely different tone of voice. "Neal, talk to me. Is there something wrong? You usually only act out like this when there's something going on that I don't know about. It'd really do both of us a favour if we could skip the resulting blow-out and fallout and you just tell me now what's eating you." He peered at the kid hopefully, noting he looked a little peaky. "Wouldn't it?" he prompted gently, "Be easier if you were to just go ahead and tell me now rather than later?" For a fleeting moment, he thought the boy was going to comply and divulge whatever the hell was biting at him. A look of raw confusion split across his face before he looked up fully, breaking into the Caffrey-Con smile.

Peter's heart sank impossibly low.

"There's nothing bothering me," the kid said smoothly, phrasing things so that he wasn't lying outright. "I just overstepped my boundaries. I apologise, I'll keep a closer eye on the line and the crossing thereof from here on out. Ok?" His cheeky-chappy routine was out in force and it aged Peter a solid decade just by looking at it unfold. Seeing that the man wasn't convinced, Neal licked his lips and kicked it up a notch. "Peter, really, I'm fine. No need for concern. I guess I'm still not used to living through the conventional norm." He grinned, emptily. "I'll ask Moz for some advice on how to conform to the man. He'll love that."

Pinching the bridge of his nose in sheer exasperation, Peter struggled to keep a lid on his temper.

Neal always had to make things so difficult.

But if there was one thing he knew, it was that pushing him before he was ready to be pushed would be disastrous. All that would result from pressuring him would be clever word play, deflections and empty assurances that couldn't flat out be classified as a lie. All he could do, was damage control. And that could only be done, if Neal wouldn't confide in him, through clarity and consistency. Dropping his hand away from his face, Peter nodded a feigned acceptance of the feigned assurance tiredly. Neal felt a hot droplet of guilt drizzle across his gut.

"Alright Neal, have it your way. But I'm going to need you to listen to me for one more minute. Ok?"

The dark, tousled head obligingly bobbed up and down.

"Any more of these stunts, like you pulled today, in the foreseeable future and there are going to be serious consequences. I can't keep explaining away your behaviour as youthful misadventure. You know better and you know that you know better. No more hare-brained stunts, no more clever manipulations and no more grinning misdirects. I give you an order Neal, and you follow it. Same as Jones does, same as Diana does. Same as I follow Hughes' orders. I don't always like what I'm told to do either but I know that I have to do it. That's the chain of command, like it or not, and you are no exception. I'm gonna be keeping a very close eye on you for a while and it would not be good for you to step out of line."

He glanced meaningfully at Neal's nether regions.

"Do I need to elaborate on what I mean by that?"

For a split second, Neal was tempted to say yes, alongside some other sprinkle of snark. Seeing the tired lines on Peter's face and the faint pleading look in his eyes however had him shaking his head and speaking softly.

"No, I'm pretty sure I know what you mean, Peter. I got it, ok? I got it."

Looking thoroughly unconvinced but equally knowing how to pick his battles, the elder man nodded.

"Ok then. Get back to work. This had better be the last time I have to haul you up here. Off you go."

Nodding his head politely, Neal stood with that inherent grace of his and strolled casually from the office without sparing a backwards glance. It wasn't until he had his head turned away from Peter's office, buried in a pile of files did he allow the exhausting smile to slip from his face to be replaced with sheer nothingness. Diana and Jones, as they were closer, spied the odd transformation but put it down to the CI's chewing out and kept their own counsel. The squad room was quiet as each occupant worked steadily, save for Neal, who was merely staring blankly at the meaningless facts and figures that shimmered up at him, biding his time until the call it a day order would rain down from the mezzanine level.

Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long.

Politely declining Peter's invitation for dinner, Neal slipped from the office and sped home. He had nothing to or no one to see but the privacy of his apartment was suddenly the most important thing to him. Closing the door with a snap some time later, he sighed a breath of relief and rested his back against it for a moment before promptly pouring himself a more than healthy helping of wine and slumping on the sofa. Unbuttoning his collar and untying his tie, he sat motionless. His eyes flickered shut, her face burning on the inside of them. He snapped them open again, pushing her away.

But he couldn't get away.

No matter how hard he pushed.

The all-consuming pain was threatening to engulf him again. His throat constricted. He breathed deep. He knew the cure. He knew what would make him feel better, but he mustn't. He shouldn't. He wouldn't. He…wanted to. Damn. He wanted to. Contemplating drinking enough to pull him into an early sleep, his eyes snapped open fully as Mozzie suddenly burst in, uninvited and unannounced, to his apartment. Sighing, he merely pointed to the open bottle of wine at his friend's inquiring stare and moved over as the little guy joined him on the sofa.

Taking a delicate sip and then a deep sip, Mozzie had that glint in his eye.

Neal vocally groaned.

"Now, listen first and snarl later," his oldest confidant chided, "I have something that might be of considerable interest to you." He took another gulp of wine and grinned. "A mutual friend of ours is in town. You remember Geoff, from the early days? Well, he's moved on to much bigger and much better things and he needs a little job doing. A job that requires considerable expertise. A Neal Caffrey level of expertise, to be precise. It's an in-and-out number, no strings attached. We're low, my friend, we're low. We've depleted a lot of resources in the investigation into Kate's…well, we're low. We need to buck back up our coffers and this job is virtually risk free. You can even keep your anklet on!"

Like an addict within eyeshot of his favourite fix, Neal shuddered with thinly supressed yearning.

"Moz, no. Stop, please. I can't. Peter would kill me."

The eccentric rolled his eyes to high heaven.

"Well," he spluttered, "I wasn't exactly planning on sending him a book report on the issue, Neal. He will never find out. This is a sans suit environment. What Peter doesn't know won't hurt him. Seriously, the payday on this is huge. You need to start thinking about life after the FBI. This apartment and this life is fine for now, sure. But it's not the end-game, Neal. We need a healthy reserve, a rainy-day fund. Right now, if it rains, we're gonna get very wet. Very wet indeed." Throwing down another glug of wine, Moz's eyes were shimmering with adrenaline laden devilment.

Neal closed his eyes, his heart hammering with lust.

This was the cure.

The high, the thrill, the pull of the con.

His very own, highly specialised, brand of self-medication.

Just when he needed it the most. Just when he needed to forget, the most.

"Moz, please," he said, with an uncharacteristic weakness to his voice, "Don't. Don't put this in front of me right now. I can't think straight. I can't think about a job. Pass it off to someone else. Mikey the fifth is good, you know that and we both know he could do with the money." He stared into space. "I don't really care about money, not anymore…I'll get by."

Mozzie's eyes bulged painfully in their sockets.

"This will help you," he said quietly, "I know what's wrong, Neal and I know what'll make you feel better. Even if it's just for a little while. You can have my share of the cash, I don't care about it either. I just…I don't like seeing you this way. You need a little pick-me-up and unfortunately a round of golf and a fine scotch doesn't cut it for guys like us. You need a high. This is your high, Neal. Take it. Take your relief. Stop suffering when you don't have to."

Neal's brow knitted together, his head beginning to spin with everything he was thinking, feeling.

A piece of paper suddenly worked its way into his hand.

"Details," Mozzie said softly, draining the last of his glass and standing. "Let me know what you want to do, whatever you decide is what we both do. Take your time and really think it over. Geoff doesn't need an answer until tomorrow evening." With an uncomfortable amount of understanding in his eyes, he nodded and swept from the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Unfurling the scroll in his hand, Neal instantly memorised it and sank back on the sofa with groan.

Before, for the first time in his life, he wasn't thinking five steps ahead.

He was only thinking one step ahead.

Just the one.

He rose and bolted from the apartment, snapping the door shut behind him.

In an inordinately short amount of time, he was knocking smartly on the door. Breathing in the night air in desperately deep gulps, tying his level best to stay in the moment, he waited for the door to swing open. When it did, the opener took one look at his clearly agitated state and ushered him inside.

Before Peter could utter a word, Neal was talking.

He was talking fast.

"I was just offered a heist job from an old friend of mine, no names. Minimum risk, low chance of exposure, attractive payday." His eyes clenched tightly shut as Peter's mouth fell open. "I wanted it, Peter, I wanted it really bad. I wanted the way it would make me feel, the thrill of it. The chase of it. I still want it. A part of me wants to turn around and run out that door and find it. I need it to forget. Even just for a while. But…I know I shouldn't and I know I can't." His eyes opened slowly, fixated upon the ground, his voice much lower and softer than usual. "I knew if I stayed at my own place I would eventually say yes, take the job and go to it. Plan for it, savour it. I…I guess that's why I'm here…" He suddenly looked unsure, uncomfortable. "I mean if that's ok? I can totally go." His face spasmed. "I should go."

He turned but didn't get further than a fractional pivot before Peter reached out and grabbed his arm.

Holding him tightly but not hurting him, he looked Neal full in the face.

"You had a choice? Between running to a con or coming here to stop yourself? And you came here?"

Looking up at him with sincere truth splashed across his face, Neal gave a simple nod.

Peter's innards constricted painfully.

"Jesus H Christ," he murmured, looking at his young charge as if he were a rare and exotic safari animal grazing in the middle of his living room, "I think I might actually drop-down-dead from pride." His eyes widened as he shook his head in mounting shock, before Neal suddenly found himself unceremoniously dragged in for an unusually emotion-laden hug. The familiar scent of Peter instantly relaxed him and his muscles decreased their rigidity a fraction as he breathed it in deeply. When the elder man released him a moment later, his gaze was still full of wonder.

"Neal, seriously…I'm so proud of you. So bloody proud. You did the right thing, you really did."

He suddenly realised they were still standing and guided the kid to the sofa. Sitting down beside him as the tousled head was promptly buried in awaiting hands, Peter reached out and squeezed the slender shoulder softly.

"This is about Kate, isn't it? Your need to forget?"

Neal nodded into his hands, his speech murmured.

"You figured it out? You always do."

Smiling sadly, Peter nodded.

"I knew it was something important but thought it couldn't be Kate because this isn't the anniversary of her death or anything and what was biting you, seemed like an anniversary kind of thing. But then I got to thinking, it could be an anniversary of a different kind." The warm pressure on the kid's shoulder was suddenly increased and the older man's voice softened. "This is the date you first met her, isn't it? Back when you were both working for Adler?"

"Tomorrow," Neal muttered, "Tomorrow's the date."

He lifted his face out of his hands and breathed deeply, admitting the painful truth to himself.

"It isn't getting any easier, Peter. It still hurts the same way it did when I saw that plane go up."

His face screwed up in pain.

"I thought it was supposed to get better in time? Time is a healer and all that." He shook his head in contradiction. "It isn't doing much healing for me."

Peter felt a stab of pain for the kid as he chose his words carefully.

"I think the pain is always there, Neal. But over time you interpret it differently. What will make your stomach clench with misery today as you remember her, will make you smile in some years to come. I'm not very good at the whole emotional thing, but if it were El…it if were El, I think looking at her stuff around the house would cripple me in the immediate aftermath, but over time…I'd be glad I had them. They'd make me happy, in a sense." He chewed his lip. "I think you have some more time to pass by before the things that are hurting you right now will make you smile, bud. And I wish I could change that for you, but I can't."

He squeezed the shoulder tighter still.

"But I can be here for you, El and I both. We can help you through, if you'll let us."

Slowly turning to face the man he had sought out in one of his darkest hours, Neal managed a small smile.

"You can be a really nice guy sometimes, Peter, did you know that?"

Snorting at the glimmer of the cheeky Neal he wouldn't admit he loved, the Agent shrugged.

"Don't tell anyone at the office. It would be a scandal."

Grinning slightly, the kid nodded his assent before staring down at the floor. Curiosity piqued in Peter as he watched him quietly.

"What pushed you to the decision to come here, Neal?"

Not having the energy or the inclination to skirt or divert, the CI shrugged.

"Didn't want to lie to you, especially after today at the office. I didn't want another thing between us that I had to keep a secret. I wanted the high, but it wasn't worth the low."

Peter closed his eyes slowly.

"That's good, Neal," he praised gently, "That's real progress, bud. Real damned progress."

Snorting somewhat, a cheeky smile suddenly split across the young and handsome face.

"I've also learned that sitting is a privilege that I really can't live without."

Chuckling loudly, Peter rose in search of food for the unexpected caller and ruffled his hair as he passed.

"Finally," he teased, "I can give my hand a well-earned rest!"

…..

A/N: Random One-Shot. I wanted to do a story that had Neal doing the "right" thing the first time round for a change!

Inks x

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