Chapter 16

"Hey, it's going to be fine." Peter approaches Neal at his desk. "Don't be nervous."

"I'm not nervous."

Peter shoots him a disbelieving look. He's been watching him squirm in his seat and fuss with just about anything he can get his hands on for the past ten minutes.

"I'm not." Neal glares up at him, but drops eye contact almost immediately, "alright, I'm a little nervous." He fidgets in his seat some more, rummaging through his draws. "Have you seen my rubber-band ball?"

"Why?"

"Because I want it." He snaps lightly, tugging at the knot of his tie.

"No," Peter rolls his eyes, shoves his jacket back, placing both hands on his hips. "Why are you nervous - Hughes isn't going to interrogate you, it's a debriefing. Same as we'd do after any sting where things didn't go as planned."

"Okay two things." Neal stops fussing with his tie momentarily to point at him. "This wasn't a sting and everything went wrong because none of it should have happen in the first place."

"Alright, alright, don't get hysterical." Peter lets Neal's glare slide off him and batting his hand away, takes control of the errant tie himself.

"I'm not hysterical." Neal sulks, dropping his hands to his lap and lifting his chin to allow him access.

Peter says nothing, feeling it's the best policy at the moment. Looping the thin silk material under his friends' upturned collar his eyes are drawn to the graze on Neal's cheek, the one sustained that first night on the bridge. It's now nothing more than a red discolouration to the otherwise pale skin. Soon there'll be no evidence it ever existed. After today, after this meeting, it'll be like none of it ever happened.

As alluring as that sounds, as tempting as it would be to reset the timeline and have them go back to the status quo, Peter is going to fight tooth and nail with himself to ensure that doesn't happen. They've grown closer in this friendship, which is inherently unbalanced but still one of the best relationships he's had outside of his marriage. He's learnt so much about who Neal is these last few days, throwing that all to the wayside for ease of pride would be a travesty.

"Do you know what they'll ask?"

Neal's question is timid, a sure sign that the previous 'status quo' might be further away than he thinks. Peter finishes with the tie and gently pats his chest. The lost expression he receives in return certainly isn't lost on him.

Long before he caught him, Peter held a theory about Neal's elusive origins. Neal Caffrey maybe his name, but it's not the original. Neal George Caffrey has no birth certificate, no school records, no anything until age eighteen. Then he pops up all over the place, every piece of information opposing the other. Not unlike the man himself – a walking contradiction.

So Peter gave up on collecting facts to build a picture and started to look at his behaviour. What he discovered was not the sociopathic monster he'd once expected, but a child, one who had no concept of right or wrong and showed little understanding of consequence.

That changed things.

His search for Neal became less about catching a criminal, and more about saving a kid from the stupidity of youth. A kid he is still trying to save, only not in a way he ever intended.

"It'll be fine." He tries to sound comforting, but is pretty sure from the scowl he's getting Neal seconds away from making snippy remark and a swift exit. "I'll be there the whole time."

The 'If you let me' is left unsaid, but Peter knows Neal, and therefore he knows things with Neal are never so simple.

….

"Do you know what they'll ask?" Neal automatically looks away, feeling the all too familiar heat rising in his face, knowing what Peter must think of him.

He twitches when a warm palm cups his cheek, the still bruised but heeling side, and forces him to make eye contact. Deep brown concerned eyes stare back and Neal swallows down the overwhelming urge to cry. Something that - Just. Needs. To. Stop.

He had hoped a good night's uninterrupted sleep would be the key, but nothing has changed. Since waking up this morning he's been trying very hard not to think about what a baby he was last night. What's worse is Peter's acting as if all is normal between them. He's only recently got used to the idea Peter considers him a friend, but friend's do not give other friends a bath or dress them or hold them because they're afraid to fall asleep. Neal knows hand on heart he would never let Mozzie do such a thing. What's even more surreal about this whole affair is Peter's the reason he had to shower alongside at least twenty other naked men for four years, with an audience of prison guards taking in every inch of him. Now that same person is probably the only one Neal would willingly give over control to like he did last night. The only person he'd even consider being completely open and vulnerable in front of. Calling him Friend just doesn't feel like he's doing Peter justice.

"It'll be fine." Peter says in that annoyingly calm and fatherly tone he's taken to using with him more and more recently. "I'll be there the whole time."

Neal wants to tell him that he doesn't need anyone to be there or hold his hand. He's been in more dangerous and challenging situations than this without any backup before and likely will be again. But somehow Peter's mere presence has his resolve crumbling, turning him into the co-dependent child he so often despises but can't seem to help feeling like whenever he's around.

"Hughes scares me." Neal mumbles grumpily, admitting his main problem out loud and feeling like a complete idiot.

Peter laughs at him. Great.

"He scared me too at first, but he's really a teddy bear." It's Neal's turn to give him the pull the other one glare. "A grisly shouting teddy bear. But a teddy bear all the same."

Neal lets loose a laugh at the image. No doubt as Peter intended.

"Come on," He takes his arm, "sooner we get this over with-"

"Yeah, I get it." Neal falls in place beside him, walking up the stairs and entering the boss's office as if they do this sort of thing every day.

…

"No Jones or Diana?" Peter comments as he walks in to find only Hughes sat behind his desk.

"I'm aware of their involvement in things" Reece says cryptically, "and the last thing I want right now is the three of you talking over each other taking responsibility." He waits a beat, watches the restrained smile touch Burkes lips and knows his message has been received.

"This isn't about blame." Peter translates for Caffrey, who has the dear in the headlights fearful look he often gets when he thinks he's in deep trouble.

Reece muses on that reaction and his next words. While this briefing isn't about placing blame, he does need to tie up loose ends and present a formal report to OPR on his departments conduct over the past week. And since he'd been mostly left out of these decisions-

"Where the hell do I start Peter?"

"Well, I guess I should start with an apology." Burke holds his hand up, Reece indicates he can finish. "I kept you in the dark."

"You did."

"And I'm sorry."

"That it?"

"Pretty much." Burke nods.

Reece laughs. That's why he likes him, short and to the point. No excuses. Caffrey on the other hand, his gaze automatically turning on the young man standing hunched at Burke's side, trying to make himself as small as possible in an effort to be overlooked.

"I'm sorry too sir."

Reece blinks, not what he expected.

"I appreciate that son, but honestly, from what I understand so far. You have nothing to be sorry for." Adding warningly, "this time."

"But-"

"Neal." Peter warns.

"I-"

"Neal." Said with more bite this time.

"Okay, take a seat gentleman." Reece internally chuckles at Caffrey's hesitation and uncharacteristic nervousness. Seeing a less cocky side of the kid Burke's practically adopted is a refreshing change. "Let's go over exactly what happened. Peter, start from the morning we got the first call from the marshals."

And so, the debriefing begins. Burke talks in detached terms about the whole affair, while Caffrey clams up, declaring few real memories. Reece senses only part of that is true, but doesn't push him – much. Only the parts where it's important to get the full picture. Like now.

"Hold up." Reece sits forward, assesses the state of both of them.

"Dickerson searched your house, but you'd sent Caffrey away to a pre-arranged meeting point?"

"I knew if they found him there he'd be taken straight to Rikers and I needed Neal to build the case. Jones and Diana had-"

"No part of it, yes, you told me that after this one was taken to the hospital." Reece points a finger at Neal. "What I need to know to present to OPR is how Caffrey then ended up tied to a groyne in the East River."

His tone gets louder and sterner. Peter is unfazed, but when both older men turn their gazes on the youngest in the room, Neal visibly shrinks in on himself. Reece watches in fascination, a Caffrey without an answer is a strange occurrence, but he's willing to wait him out. Then Burke's hand slowly reaches out, covers Neal's clasped ones in his lap. Eye contact is made and whatever message is passed he'll likely never know, but it gets the kid talking.

"I felt it best to meet with Kelly on my own."

"Kelly Rowland sir, our lead suspect at the time."

"I know who she is." Reece indicates for Neal to continue.

"Well I was certain I could get her to meet with me and my plan really did involve Peter catching up with us, I was going to text him as soon as she arrived, but…"

"But?"

"She wasn't working alone. I got grabbed from behind, they injected me with something. Next thing I know I'm waking up in the water, tied up."

"Why alone? Why not include any of your colleagues?" He used the word colleagues to draw a reaction and by god he got one, in the form of a hitched breath and quickly averted gaze. Peter was right, the boy really isn't himself yet.

"Kelly came after me, sir. It was my mess to clean up."

"You assumed this Rowland woman had some revenge plan, when the reality was she's a consummate drug user, herself being manipulated by a criminal with a bigger agenda than your love life."

"That's about the size of it, sir."

"It was a stupid decision."

"Yes sir."

"The only reason I'm not considering withdrawing your place with us here Mr Caffrey is because the medical report supports Peter's assentation that the drug cocktail you'd been unwittingly given seriously impaired your judgement."

"I haven't felt quite myself, sir."

"Good, now we've got that cleared up, I don't meet with OPR until Wednesday, so I suggest you two take a couple of days off." Reece looks them over. "You both look like crap. I assume you've got a plan to occupy our boy here for at least that long? I don't need any more messes to clean up before I've cleaned this one."

"Thank you, sir." Burke stands, grabs Neal by the arm encouraging him to do the same. "I've got it all planned. I promise you, Neal will not be leaving my sight."

Reece considers how that might work, but then thinks he probably doesn't want to know. "Go on, your free to go."

Neal bolts out the door like his ass is on fire, leaving Peter to stare after him.

"He really doing okay?"

Burke sighs, gaze watching, prepared to act should the kid continue his run through the office and out the doors. Luckily the young man comes to a stop and drops to sit at his desk.

"He's not used to being so dependent on someone." He relaxes a modicum.

Reece sees that. He also sees how much Peter cares.

He pulls an envelope out of his desk draw. "Marshal Dickerson left this for you. Strict instructions to hand it to you personally."

Peter hides his surprise well, but Hughes isn't the ASAC for nothing. He clocks the slight raise of his brow and twitch in his left eye. He takes it with a thanks and a smile. Reece knows better than to ask. He trusts Peter. If he needs to know, he will. Until then they'll go back to the status-quo.

"Look after him, I'm sure he'll be back to his cheeky and bothersome self in no time."

Peter smiles. "I never thought I'd look forward to that."

Reece watches Peter jog down the stairs, gathering the kid up and heading out the door. It's a strange relationship they share. He'd warned Peter right at the beginning when he first requested Caffrey's deal. This wasn't any ordinary C.I relationship and Caffrey had proven him right. Though unlike that first meeting, despite all the trouble, Caffrey – Neal, has brought out another side to Peter Burke that is a pleasant surprise to see. Whether that's a good thing in the long run remains to be seen, but so far being together has done them both good. If Peter's willing to see it through, then Reece is too.

…

The air outside is frosty. Another flurry of snow fell overnight and the sidewalks are covered in a grey slush which is hard to avoid what with all the holiday shoppers filling the streets. He hadn't given much thought to the time of year, had likely actively been trying to avoid it. Now things are settling down, the reality of things getting back to normal in sight, Neal can't help but think about it. Sentenced in February 2005 and four consecutive Christmas' since spent in prison, this would be his first without the hope of ever being with Kate. His first on the outside. The reminder of how close he came to making it a fifth consecutive Christmas on C block isn't worth thinking about.

"I guess I made quite a scene the other day, huh?" Neal breaks the silence consuming the car as Peter navigates the slow holiday traffic.

"You've made a few scenes recently, might want to narrow it down." Peter's response is firm and crass and exactly what Neal should have expected.

"I mean in the hospital… when ... I woke up." Neal silently begs him not to make him spell it out.

He risks a glance upward, feels his cheeks warming naturally and despite starting it prays for a swift end to this conversation.

"You passed out in the ambulance," Peter keeps his gaze on the road as he speaks for a change, a move for which Neal is grateful. "They kept telling me you were okay. It was just exhaustion, but then you woke up, you were inconsolable. I had no idea what to do...I-"

"I think I was dreaming." Neal interrupts, not really thinking about what he's saying just knowing he needs to say something because it's gnawing at him and Neal knows he won't be able to truly relax until he resolves whatever it is. "It felt so real, I think it was. Something that really happened to me."

There's a flash of something in Peter's eyes, something Neal can't quite pinpoint.

"When you were a kid?" Peter pauses, waits for Neal's confirmation nod before clarifying further, "a little kid by chance?"

"Why?"

Peter slumps in his seat, looking unsure all of a sudden. "When you woke up... you seemed very… young."

"Young?" Neal repeats, confusion clear in his tone.

"Like really young. You said you wanted to go home." He continues nervously. "And before that, in the ambulance you said something else…"

"What?" Neal breathes out, barely daring to speak now himself, scared of what he might have said that he doesn't remember.

"Neal," Peter speaks nervously, looking conflicted and anxious and apologetic all at once. Then his back straightens, voice hardens and a question Neal never wanted asking is released into the air, "Did you run away from home?"

Tears spring unbidden to his eyes. Neal swipes them away fiercely, each and every one, not willing to let any of the unwanted moisture taint his cheeks. He tries to keep his hands from undoing the seatbelt, resists the urge to fling open the door and make his escape. They're barely moving, it wouldn't even require much more than a jog to stay on his feet, keep his dignity intact and his suit clean. Suddenly the car is no longer a warm barrier from the snowy weather outside, it's cold and dark, a metal cage closing in and threatening to swallow him whole…

Neal was three when the marshals took him away the first time. He had been playing at a neighbour's house – or so his aunt Ellen had said when telling him the story many years later after having yet another nightmare about it– when the marshals knocked on the door. Neal heard the pounding all the way upstairs. He'd been playing dress up in the closet, unbeknownst to Marleen, his mother's then best friend. Two men pushed Marleen aside and approached him on the landing where he'd been looking down watching the commotion. One took him by the arm, dragging him down the stairs and out the door without a word. He was three and apparently to them that meant he'd never understand so what was the point in saying anything. They all but threw him in the back of a van. Had he been older, had a chance to hone his skills a little there's no way Neal would have let himself be taken. But he wasn't older, he was little and scared and the adults put in charge of his safety had no sympathy for a cop killers' son.

A marshal sat in the back of the van with him, watching him from the corner. They drove for what felt like hours, but had probably been less than ten minutes, a few blocks over to the diner where his mom was at work. She was the next person he saw enter the van and the sight sent such a feeling of relief through him that it he burst into tears, the first visible emotional reaction since hearing the bangs on the door.

She hugged him close and told him everything was going to be okay. She promised. But then it wasn't, it wasn't okay. The next time the van stopped everyone got out, his mom and the marshals. They told him to wait. They left him all alone in the van and shut the doors while they went outside. Neal had no idea what was happening still. He wanted to believe his mom, he did… but he needed to speak to his dad.

He never got the chance.

At some point everyone came back, Neal doesn't know when because he fell asleep, tears dried on his flushed cheeks. When he woke up his Aunt Ellen was watching him. He was lying on a sofa, in a house he didn't recognise. Feeling the tears rise again he ran to Ellen and hugged her tight, begging her to take him home. He wanted his toys and his bed and everything that made home, home. She explained she couldn't and she was sorry. Neal could hear his mother crying and tried to go to her, but Ellen held him back. He never understood why.

That was his life for the next few years, hearing his mother's cries, but unable to go to her, to make her feel better. Everyday his dad didn't join them was another day he tried to hold out hope that it wouldn't be much longer. Then finally, he worked up the courage to ask where his dad was. And his mother told him.

He was five when he finally learnt his dad was never coming back, that his dad had died. Suddenly the tears and cries made sense. He felt a little stupid for not working it out sooner, he knew his dad wouldn't have stayed away so long if he could have come with them. So, five-year old Neal sucked it up and got on with things. His mom was often the opposite, but that was okay. By seven he'd learnt to cook his own spaghetti out of the tin and could find his own way to school after making his own bus pass. Ellen called it a forgery but Neal didn't know what that word meant. He'd copied the other bus passes exactly, so assumed since she wasn't mad that it was a good thing.

Things just went on from there. At nine he learnt how to play pool and won enough money to buy some decent art supplies, his favourite subject at school. His mom didn't cry so much anymore but she never really got out of bed and when she did she rarely spoke to him so she never noticed the brand-new easel he brought home on his twelfth birthday. When Neal graduated middle school, things started to change. His mom got a job and although she was around just as much as she was before, going to bed before 7pm, up and out before 6am, she did try and spend time with him. Unfortunately, by then Neal had already learnt the art of self-sufficiency. He didn't know how to talk to her, so he carried on as he always had. Despite his extra-curricular activities, he wanted to follow in his dad's footsteps and join the police force. He'd gotten pretty good at handling guns thanks to the guys down at the pool hall, those who didn't want to have to explain to their wives and girlfriends to whom they'd lost their money, so instead he claimed his prize down at the shooting range.

Ellen went mad when he told her what he'd done, but she promised not to tell his mom if he dropped the whole idea. Neal was confused, he thought Ellen would have been happy, having been a cop herself, but then put it down to her worrying about his safety. So, they agreed to disagree. Ellen never did tell his mom about the pool hall.

Then he turned eighteen. And his life was turned upside down for the second time. He left the house that day in a hurry. Didn't pack a thing. Mainly because he hadn't planned on going anywhere, it was only when he found himself at Gateway train station, standing on the platform for the Amtrak to Chicago that he realised how easy it would be to disappear. He knew how to evade the conductor so a ticket wasn't an issue, and he could always get money. Stepping closer to the open door of the carriage Neal gave a wishful thought to the stash of cash under his mattress. He hadn't even grabbed his rucksack, with all his I. D's and art supplies inside. Whistle blown he was out of time. It was now or never-

The train pulled out of the station at three minutes past four on the 21st of March 2002. Unbeknownst to the young man formally known as Danny Brooks, by the time he arrived in New York later the next day and used his charm to con his way into a fifth avenue hotel room, his mother and Ellen were once again getting into the back of a none descript panel van, both in tears, both with nothing but the clothes on their backs and already mourning the loss of one very special little boy...

.

"Hey, hey stop." Peter commands, one hand holding onto the steering wheel, reaching out with other, grabbing his wrists tight. "Stop."

They've pulled over by the time Neal does start to calm, eyes closed taking several deep breaths. He waits for the panicky thumping inside his chest to resume something closer to a normal rhythm before opening his eyes and looking over at Peter.

"Neal, I need you to listen to me, to know something." Peter loosens his hold but doesn't break away. "I know you have a thing about being totally independent and I know the anklet makes that very hard to do. I also know these past couple of days have been your worst nightmare as far as that goes. But-" Peter pauses, licks his lips looking like he may change his mind about this whole keeping an eye on him thing. "Seeing you on the bridge - more than once – I've come to realise…" he sighs, Neal hears it and feels it. "I would miss you Neal."

Neal lets the words sink in, clocks the silence threatening to swallow the car. "It's not that I don't want to tell you."

"I know," Peter taps his clasps hands, finally letting go. "Look, I know there's a whole important part of your life I'm missing here that would explain why the hell you left Mozzie like you did to solve this on your own. But that's because I wasn't in it, so when you are ready to tell me... just know I'll be here to listen."

"And make notes."

"That to." Peter grins, setting both hands on the wheel and pulling out into traffic, resuming their journey to Brooklyn. "But only for my own personal Caffrey box, which by the way is hidden in a completely different place. I challenge you to find it."

"Really?" Neal laughs dryly.

"No," Peter immediately retracts his statement. "Leave it alone, don't even think about looking for it."

Neal nods and smiles. Peter knows he's hiding something and that's okay… because he is. But this is something he has the right to hide. He's been down this road before, thought about looking, finding the truth for himself, but Ellen always said the danger was too great. If he told Peter, Peter wouldn't be able to help himself, he'd have to look and then Neal wouldn't be able to help himself. He'd want to let him.

One day it might be the right time, under the right set of circumstance one day he would be able to tell Peter as much as he knows and together they could maybe discover the rest. Until then, knowing he has that safety net, unconditionally, it's a gift he'll treasure forever.

END.

A/N: Thanks for reading people. TTFN!