"Okay."

Peter stares at Neal sitting across from him, his desk between them.

"Okay."

Neal's back is straight as a ruler in his chair, hands resting still in his lap, looking like butter wouldn't melt and smiling like this morning never happened.

They've had an uneventful day at the office in all, thankfully. Went for lunch at one of their usual places and made it back in good time to catch up on emails. Neal's even behaved and left him alone long enough to get all the accompanying paperwork for his statement signed off and sent to Ruiz. Hey might even leave on time for once. This should all make him one very happy FBI agent.

Except one thing.

That smile.

He'd like to think the smile being aimed his way is genuine, that Neal really is feeling better since and is more than ready to move back onto active field work. But despite all that's happened in-between, he can't get that finch he saw this morning, when El said goodbye, out of his head. It was a simple gesture, one his wife has done several times before, a bit of a habit since Neal's been living with them. A kiss for him and a hair stroke for Neal. Only this morning Neal's eyes had glassed over and he jumped like he'd been burned. It was so subtle El didn't notice, she ran her fingers through his hair like she normally would, causing his fringe to fall into his eyes. Neal put on a smile like he often does when trying to hide something, so she knew nothing different. But the fear he saw once El left, that was genuine. Neal had been terrified and looked for all the world like he wanted to bolt.

Peter's mind draws swift conclusions and suddenly he isn't so sure about keeping his end of the deal. There's still a lot to work through, but then if he delays there's a good chance the trust Neal has in him will weaken and break.

He needs a better plan.

Holding the cocksure gaze currently staring at him across the desk, it reminds him of why Neal is here and he promises himself he'll revisit this dilemma later.

"Okay," Peter sits forward, resting his elbows on the desk and raising his hand, a single finger pointed upwards. "Rule number one."

Neal rolls his eyes, dropping the smile and his shoulders. "Really?"

"Rule number one," Peter repeats, refusing to be distracted. "You follow my instructions at all times."

"That's always been rule number one." Neal slouches, hands dropping to hang uselessly by his side.

"And yet you have an awful habit of not following it." He has the grace to look contrite and Peter smiles in victory. "Rule number two." He holds up two fingers now. "No complaining about case allocation."

"Do I ever complain?"

Peter internally laughs at that, but he can be as good as Neal and not a hint of amusement shows on his face. "Rule number three," a third finger joins the current two and Peter really has to work at maintaining his tight-lipped expression when Neal audibly whines and drops lower in the chair, "you will not go anywhere on your own, without permission."

That makes Neal sit up.

"Ah!" Peter holds up a palm front of Neal's face. "No."

Collapsing back in his seat his posture is tense and one leg starts to bounce up and down. "Peter, how is this any different from how it is now?"

"You'll be back on active cases, working in the field with me." He shrugs, "what's the difference to how it's always been with the anklet?"

"Exactly."

"What?"

"It isn't any different from how it's always been." Neal stands, paces to the corner of the room and stays there, running a hand over his face.

"I told you everything that happened," he's voice cracks slightly.

Peter wants nothing more than to move over there, take Neal in his arms and squeeze the fear and the worry right out of him. "You did, and I appreciate it."

"So," Neal starts to pace again, over to the window and back, "what was the point?" He throws both hands in the air, turning to face him.

"The point," Peter stands and slowly approaches, "is we all have to work by the rules. Just like we all do paperwork and some cases mean desk work. That's the nature of White Collar,"

"But you promised-" Neal stamps his feet, looking seconds away from a very rare, but not unheard-of, full-blown tantrum.

"Ah!" Peter warns, closing the small gap between them and taking Neal by his arm's, moving them closer to the wall dividing his office from the conference room, restricting the view of anyone in the bullpen. "I promised not to treat you any differently and I plan to stick to that," Peter tells him calmly.

Neal shuffles his feet, keeping his head down, he raises his eyes to look at Peter through his eyelashes and speaks his next words shyly. "So, you're going to shout at me and threaten me with prison if I step out of line or piss you off?"

Seeing the slight upturn of his lips Peter heaves a relieved sigh, raising his own gaze up at the ceiling to regroup he releases one arm and pats the kid's shoulder before walking back to sit behind his desk. "Don't piss me off," he says, indicating the door, "and I won't need to threaten you with prison."

Prison would never be a reality for Neal again, not if he had anything to do about it. Peter knows he wouldn't be able to live with it. Especially after all this. But it's important Neal doesn't know that, or at least can't be sure, for both their sakes.

Neal doesn't move straight away, but he does sneak a glance into the bullpen to see who might be looking. "Fine."

"Is that the only word I'm going to get from you today?" Peter groans, not at all bothered if they're attracting attention.

"I feel it's safest." Neal shoots back, voice strong.

"Don't get cocky."

"That rule number four?" Neal smirks as he strolls towards the exit.

Obviously, he's deemed the coast to be clear…

"Neal?" Peter calls him back as he takes a step out the door.

He's intending to say something equally cocky, just to have the last word, and remind the kid who's in charge, but then the unthinkable happens-

"Sorry," Neal mumbles automatically, eyes downcast.

There's a red light, right there. Neal never apologies. For being a pain or otherwise. He smiles and pretends he doesn't care, all the while thinking he's cute. Which most of the time he is and Peter lets him get away with it. This contrite and humble Neal who is someone Peter does not want to get used to. And like a slap in the face, that bad feeling he had about the flinch he witnessed this morning comes rushing back.

Standing once again and moving around his desk, Peter beckons him back over. "I was going to say," he reaches behind him, grabbing a file folder, "read through this, catch up on the pertinents, we leave straight after case de-briefing."

"Jersey?" Neal comments, skimming the first page.

Peter watches him study the folder. It wasn't what he was going to say at all, but when Neal did as he asked and looked up at him with wide beseeching eyes, he knew now was not the time. It's baby steps still. This is just another hurdle in their 1000-yard sprint.

"Go," Peter nudges his chin at the door. "We need to get to Jersey and back by six if we're going to be home in time to order from that new place El wants to try."

Neal cocks his head, tearing his gaze away from the pages long enough to give him another flash of that cheeky grin. "Takeaway on a Tuesday, Peter? You rebel."

And with that he's down the stairs, sauntering lightly towards his own desk. Peter watches him go with an uneasy smile. He's a rebel alright. He just hopes his rebellion pays off. For all their sakes.

To be continued in part 3 ….