"Well, if Norman Rockwell produced after-school-special cartoons, and one very enthusiastic yellow lab wagged its tail a lot and was an FBI agent and stopped all the time to grab people by the sleeve and lecture them on truth, justice, and not playing with matches, and -"

Peter just had to laugh. He was frustrated at the diversion, but damn did he ever just like Neal. "Hey now," he protested. "Playing with matches is fun."

Neal raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Peter. Unexpected dimensions, I like that. What's your stance on running with scissors?"

"Amateur hour. Try sprinting with machetes." Peter frowned. "Okay. The truth, Neal. All of it. Good, bad, or ugly."

The lighting-fast emotions that flashed across Neal's face told Peter as much as his answer ever could. Intimidation. Uncertainty. Trust. Admiration. Fear. Reserve. Defiance. Longing. Curiosity. Suspicion. Surrender. Affection.

Neal stood and walked out on the patio, then took a deep breath and braced himself with his back against a concrete gargoyle. "As my friend. My partner, my owner, my captor, the best thing that's ever happened to me. As a predator and a safe haven."

Peter pressed his face into his hands. Well - it was honesty. And pretty damn accurate, in all its incredibly touching horror.

"Okay," said Peter, clenching his fists, determined to be just as honest. "El and I joke I adopted you. You've become family. You're my responsibility. You're my partner. A prisoner in my custody, and someone I care about more than I got any clue how to figure out."

Neal looked...emotional. Touched and worried, a sculptural monster at his back, facing off against the world and wondering whether to let Peter fight at his side. And in a flash, he decided. There was that incredibly endearing look of absolute trust. The one that moved Peter to the depths of his heart and scared the hell out of him.

If Peter wanted to reform Neal, he had to fix him. While everything else was trying to break him.

Neal was comfortable conning and swindling people because in his mind, it was all a game everyone was playing. He who steals from, takes advantage of, or outwits the other person first wins. To most criminals, anyone who took pride in honesty and not playing that game was a sucker who deserved a lesson in "the real world." But Neal was different. Vulnerability in others brought out gentleness in him. Being cared about disarmed him. He might not have a moral compass, but he was looking for one.

Caffrey was wounded by things Peter could only guess at. Blows bounced off him, but left bruises he would never show and never surrender to. He was not a man to be reformed by prison, or threat, or punishment. If anything, his behavior was an act of constant defiance and would continue to be.

There was only one crack in Neal's armor. He was reachable through friendship and patience and play and reassurance. He was absurdly romantic. If he learned that family really existed, that true and enduring bonds of friendship were real, and love wasn't a game, he had a chance.

Peter cleared his throat. "At work, I value your skill and experience. I'm handling an asset and managing a prisoner. But off duty, I'm just here 'cause I like you."

Peter frowned. Another masterpiece of sensitivity, Burke. These things never sounded bad until they left his mouth. Handling an asset? Managing a prisoner? Way to go on the not-objectifying-Neal front.

Neal was shaking his head. And there was a faint, amused smile behind his eyes. "No. You're never off duty. And you're never just an FBI agent. I was blown away because I was arrested by a friend who cared about me, not some asshole cop. And you're here tonight because the FBI agent wants to reform me."

He's right.

And now he thinks I've been trying to both con him and reduce him back to a thing to be managed.

I give up.

But there was no hurt in Neal's expression, just amused affection. "Peter. You think I'm broken because I accept the way the world is and forgive it. You think my trust in you is strange."

Peter closed his eyes. Forgetting that Neal was an expert in the way people thought? Bad idea.

"You're honest about who you are, you don't filter yourself to make yourself look or sound better," said Neal. "You're the absolute opposite of me, and that's why I trust you. Even though I'm pretty sure one day you're gonna call me Satchmo by accident and snap a leash on me."

Peter almost laughed out loud. "Last night? Satchmo needed to go out after I fell asleep. I jiggled a pair of handcuffs at him and snapped them on his collar before I woke up enough to realize they weren't his leash."

Neal's eyes sparkled in amusement. "Pro tip for handling this 'asset' - wiggling handcuffs at me and asking if I want to go for a walk may not be met with the excitement you're expecting."

Peter pulled out his cuffs and dangled them in front of Neal with an enticing expression. "Walkies?"

Neal did laugh out loud at that one, and immediately doubled over with a pained grimace. He clutched his stomach and staggered. "Ow." He looked pale.

Peter lunged forward and caught his shoulders, steadying him. Neal breathed very deliberately for a minute, exhaling with a slight hiss until the pain subsided. He let part of his weight lean into Peter's grip, making no move to pull away. Peter realized he must want to be held, to have that distraction from the pain.

Physical contact? He can't properly consent to that either.

Over-thinking much, Burke? He loves it. It relaxes him, and there's not much that does.

Peter put his right arm around Neal's shoulders and pulled him tight against his side. He got a completely melted CI in return. So fast that Neal had to have been desperate for someone to hug and steady him. Neal was bruised, battered, and hurting. He felt the pain of being seen as less than human, he just buried it expertly and, unnervingly, accepted it.

"Don't hide it when you're hurting," said Peter. "Let me be there. I - care about you, Neal."

"Even like this?" asked Neal in a dry, self-deprecating tone. Like he knew he was being a burden relaxing in the support of a friend.

"Especially like this," said Peter. "It's when you try to keep up that damn facade 24/7 that stresses me out."

Neal took a deep breath and let it out, relaxing deeply against Peter's side and resting his chin on a gargoyle's knee, his eyes half closed. "Fine. Tonight, I can use - this."

Peter kept his arm across Neal's back. It seemed like he needed the support. It was one of those moments when Neal looked particularly small and young. Softness against stone.

"You're good at enduring awful things," said Peter, talking to him in a gentle voice. "I get that you've had to - have to - and you might as well be good at it. I'll do my best to avoid being one of 'em. But when you're safe, with people you trust, show you're human. Okay?"

Neal twisted his head to the side and met Peter's eyes. His chin didn't leave its support, and the tiny burns on his neck reminded Peter of just how serious this was. "You were there for me today. I am scared of going through something like that again without you around. I - I'm pretty sure I'm not disposable to you. To be seen as an expendable tool is - stressful."

It was Peter's turn to consider his words for a long time. That had made him feel so - on edge, worried, betrayed. What it must have done to Neal...

What he wanted to say sounded awfully sentimental.

Screw it. You came to offer solace, offer it.

"Your life is precious to me, Neal."

Neal squirmed, looked away, and finally looked at Peter in awe. Pure awe. Peter recognized that emotion. It was what he himself had felt, when a drugged and uninhibited Neal Caffrey responded to impending arrest by telling Peter he was the one person in his life he trusted.

"You're the one person who's ever felt that way about me."

And that was possibly the most heartbreaking, trusting thing a reserved person could say. If it wasn't a con. And this just wasn't. Neal was doing what Peter had just asked him to, showing he was human and vulnerable.

Peter contained an inward shiver. Neal trusted hard. In the scary, full-tilt, dedicated way he did most things. The idea of letting him down, letting him get hurt, letting him get punched and electrocuted, was even more intolerable when he saw this version of Neal. The vulnerable, sweet, human, trusting side he protected so doggedly. The other Neal could take a beating, pick himself up, and shrug it off with a grin. This Neal -

This was the man behind the front.