A/N And so comes the end of yet another fun ride for me. I always love when I post these fics, hearing everyone's running commentary, encouragement and sweet, thoughtful reviews, and then I miss it all when it slowly drifts away, until next time...Speaking of which, my friend who has been helping me with this, read this last part of In Loco and said, "Is that it?" and I thought, 'Uh oh!' and then I remembered I told everyone before I started that the reason I didn't post this for eighteen months was because I hadn't written the sequel yet, and I even remember someone saying (I'm not going to mention names here!) that 'one is better than none.' And when I told that to my friend, she said, 'Yeah...so have you started it yet!' - But she said it much nicer :) Hopefully I can do it before another eighteen months has passed by, and I am definitely more in the mind set to do so after a whole lot of suggestions and ideas were shared with me during this fic.

A big shout out to all the guest reviewers who I don't get to reply to - Thank you for all your kind messages, I know some of you guessed Peter's text message in its entirety but apparently it seems, guest reviews are on some kind of a delayed posting system. A special thank you to DB who always seems to be there with a kind word to say :)

Also, please pop in and have a look at our site, White Collar Corrections at Weebly dot com. Itsmecoon has posted an awesome Photo story under the slash banner that everyone who likes to see a bit of shirtless Neal and shirtless Peter should check out :)

Epilogue

Neal checked his watch, grabbed his coat and took off across the street at speed. If he hurried, he could hang out with Mozzie for a couple of hours and still make it back in plenty of time to meet his curfew. It was his first night of freedom since being placed on 'after dinner detention' for that whole study hall fiasco and he was keen to catch up with his friend so he could collect his share of their winnings. The teenager was moving with determination as he skipped up onto the opposite sidewalk. There was no way he was going to chance coming home late, his backside had barely recovered from 'father's' impossibly exasperating and ever so painful correctional method.

"Neal!" The teenager looked up, stopping himself in the nick of time from barrelling into Peter. The older man placed a steadying hand on the boy's shoulder, "Where you going in such a hurry, kiddo?"

"Oh, hey Pops!" Neal glanced around for the Taurus. "I didn't see you pull up. Where's the car?"

The agent indicated back over his shoulder, "I had to park down the street a little, but not to worry, it's all good exercise. Speaking of which, what are you up to? The way you came tearing across the street, I could have sworn you were in training for the track team."

"Ah…" Neal composed himself quickly and smiled with reassuring confidence. "No actually, it's just that this is my first night of freedom and I was wanting to make the most of it being a Friday night and all." Neal studied his watch again hoping he hadn't wasted too much time at this unanticipated roadblock.

"You've done all your chores?"

"Yes, sir," Neal moaned. "Took out the trash, helped Elizabeth clean up from dinner, fed Satchmo and put the laundry away."

"Okay then son, sounds like you've taken care of everything, just one more thing Peter grinned inwardly with satisfaction. The boy was coming ahead in leaps and bounds. He began to move away but turned back as an afterthought, "Neal…"

"Argh, seriously Pops!" Neal shook his head in frustration and kicked at the tree beside him. "There's always got to be-" The boy discontinued his protest as a rustling in the branches above caused both men to look up and jump back. As they did, a large book broke free of the tree and landed between them at their feet.

Neal cringed, not wanting to lift his eyes to see the older man's reaction. He didn't need confirmation of what he already knew – he was in deep shit!

"Chemistry in Context: Applying Chemistry to a Global Society." Although the weather-beaten cover was in a rather appalling condition, Peter was still able to make out the title. "Mmmm, where do you suppose that book came from, Neal?"

"Looks like it fell from the sky, Pops."

Peter glared at his youngster, "Just like my hand's about to?"

Neal gulped and chose wisely to withhold another smart retort. Peter bent down and picked up the text, turning it over at arm's length so the grot from the pages didn't make contact with his suit.

"Let's see," Peter flipped to the inside front cover and closely examined the student assignment sticker. "Property of Brooklyn Central High. Student…Would you care to hazard a guess as to whom this text has been checked out to, Sport?"

Neal considered. He could give a smart answer – off the top of his head he could think of at least three prominent chemistry scientists who'd lived in Brooklyn at some point in their lives. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that one of them had borrowed from the BCH library while completing a thesis. Of course, it also wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that Peter would break a branch off the tree and whip his butt all the way across the street so he simply answered, "Me?"

"Correct. Care to tell me how your BCH Chemistry text ended up in this sugar maple?"

Neal's shoulders slumped in defeat as he glanced across the street and up to the study window.

Peter followed his gaze and came to an accurate conclusion. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me?"

"Fraid so."

"But how, and…when?"

"Last week when you sent me home."

"But you said you left your books at school," Peter was confused.

"I did," Neal was quick to add. "I did leave them in my locker."

Everything was falling into place, "Just not all of them like you had insinuated."

"I can't help it, Pops if you came to the wrong conclusion."

"Just like I can't help it Junior if your backside gets in the way of my shoe as I kick it off on the way through the door." Peter took a hold of the kid by his upper arm and turned him back in the direction of the house.

"But, Pops…" Neal whined pointing over his shoulder. "I was heading out."

"You may have been but sadly you won't have time. By the time you have written a letter to the school explaining that your text is beyond repair and could they please bill you for another copy, it'll be time for bed."

"Fantastic," Neal mumbled sarcastically to the bitumen as he was led back to the house.

Peter stood to the side, allowing his young charge to enter first but Neal stopped and pointed back to the tree. "Just out of curiosity, what was that one last thing you were about to make a point of before I kicked the tree?"

The older man shook his head with a sympathetic smile. "I was just going to ask if you needed some spending money. I was reaching for my wallet when you overreacted."

"Damn it!" Neal whispered under his breath, before daring to ask, "I don't suppose if I write really fast, I can still go out?"

"Sorry buddy, but it's going to take me while to read it. Besides, it's not going to do you any harm to learn a bit more patience, restraint and-"

"Impulse control. Yes, sir," Neal groaned, "I know the lecture, no need for a rerun of the same program."

"Then here's an idea, why not give it a go sometime. You never know, you may actually enjoy staying out of trouble."

"Hey, hon," El came down the stairs to greet her husband with a kiss before turning to the younger man, "Did you forget something, Sweetie?"

Neal caught Peter toeing off his shoes and quickly whipped around the other side of El and onto the staircase before answering. "Ah, I just remembered I have to…I need to write to the school asking them for a new text book…my last one…well it got damaged and I can't use it anymore." As he spoke, Neal walked carefully backwards up the stairs and had reached the landing before his explanation was complete. "I'll bring it down, Pops for you to sign as soon as I'm done," he called out while disappearing up to his room.

El turned to hug her husband. "Awww, what a good kid. He's come back to take care of his responsibilities instead of going out. You know, hon, I'm just so proud of the thoughtful and responsible teenager he is becoming."

Peter rolled his eyes while following his wife in through to the kitchen, stopping covertly to toss the ruined text into the trash without El noticing. "Yeah, he is a good kid…" Peter replied before dropping his voice to a whisper so he could grumble, "and still, a great con."

# # #

Three weeks later…

"No, Moz…I told you why already…" Neal sat crossed-legged on his bed cradling the phone between his ear and his shoulder while he fidgeted with the monitoring device secured around his ankle. "What did she say when you told her?...No, if Alex wants me on her crew then she has to figure out some other way to get me off my leash for the night. The last thing I want to see when I climb back through my window at four in the morning is 'father' holding his mobile in one hand and that wicked paddle of his in the other…No, it's not a fanciful exaggeration…He actually does…And yes, he actually has…No, believe me, you do not! …Can we just, you know, move on," Neal checked the bedside clock… "The oldies are going to be home any minute and if they catch me on the phone they're going to interrogate me over who I was talking to…I gotta got…Yeah, okay, just be sure she gets the message that I can take it or leave it, but she shouldn't even consider doing it without the two of us… Yeah…okay…What's for dinner?...Huh," Neal shrugged even though his friend was unable to see him, "No idea…It's Tuesday, yeah, so?...Crap!" Neal sprung off the bed and bolted out his bedroom door. He'd made it down both flights of stairs before he even finished saying goodbye to Mozzie. He dumped his phone on the sideboard on his way past to the kitchen.

"Crap!" he repeated as he gazed hopelessly around, wondering well the hell to begin. He yanked open the fridge and scanned the contents, hoping a partially made dinner would materialize but sadly, all he was presented with were a pitiful collection of spreads, eggs, milk, juice, a bunch of fresh vegetables in the crisper and a handful of sauce bottles. On any other given night, the fridge may have been well stocked with half eaten casseroles or bowls brimming with pasta dishes. But unfortunately, they'd had leftovers the night before and he remembered Peter grabbing a container from the fridge on his way to work. Neal slammed the fridge shut in frustration then went through the same wishful thinking process while standing and staring into the pantry.

"This is just fricken fantastic," Neal groaned sarcastically while contemplating how much time he possibly had up his sleeve before he'd be busted for slacking off. There had never been any pressure on him to have dinner sitting on the table, the second the Burkes walked though the door, but there was an expectation of being responsible at all times. Unfortunately, completely forgetting to even make a start on dinner because he'd been caught up chatting with a friend he'd been forbidden to have any contact with, was a clear violation of the rules according to Peter. And even though Peter would never be privy to knowing why he'd overlooked the chore in the first place, Neal didn't want to have to fabricate a viable excuse as to why they were being forced to order takeout. The whole situation would just get very messy – it was so much less complicated to simply slap up a quick meal and be done with it.

With the anticipated reward of being able to dodge a long, tedious lecture, and conceivably escaping something even far less desirable, spurring him on, Neal began to frantically snatch up a collection of jars, bottles and containers. He carried the armful across to the counter then spun around and flicked on the stove. He shoved a saucepan under the tap and filled it in between sliding across to the freezer to grab a small packet of beef and reaching up to collect the wok from one of the higher cupboards. After punching out the correct setting on the microwave to defrost the meat, Neal proceeded to pour generous quantities of barbeque sauce, honey and soy sauce into a mixing bowl. Beef stir-fry wasn't one of his favourite dishes but it was one of a few meals he could make that didn't require a great deal of preciseness in order to achieve a reasonable result. Neal proudly inspected the mess he'd made across the bench top in such a short time. At this point, if the Burkes walked through the door, it would look, by all appearances, as though the meal preparation was well under way. All that was really missing from his successful smokescreen was an enticing aroma waffling through to the living room. The microwave beeped loudly announcing the meat was good to go so he grabbed the bowl of stir-fry sauce before reaching in and picking up the beef dish. Only…he hadn't punched the correct setting on the microwave. He'd in actual fact, punched in the highest heat setting and the heat had gone and soaked clear through the ceramic dish holding the meat. "Far out!" he yelled while reaching for the plate with his free hand. Only…his other hand wasn't free, and as he grabbed for the dish, not only did the dish slip from his scorched fingers and smash onto the tiled floor, but the sticky honey, barbeque, soy stir-fry sauce tipped all down his front.

"Fricken hell!" Neal exclaimed as he shook the sting out of his fingers. He did a lot more cursing as he carefully stepped over, in his bare feet no less, the shattered china slithers, raw beef slices, and tacky brown liquid while making his way across to the sink…and then he notice his clothing. "O, fricken unbelievable!" Elizabeth had suggested on more than one occasion that he should wear an apron while cooking, but each time Neal dismissed it as totally unnecessary for a culinary virtuoso such as himself. But now, looking down shamefully at his stained shirt and pants, he felt like an idiot. "You idiot, Neal!" he reiterated as he pressed a kitchen towel against the disastrous mess and made his way down to the laundry.

He took off his shirt and tossed it straight into the washing machine, then stripped down to his boxers and threw the pants in as well. But the sauce had unbelievably seeped through and his light grey boxer briefs had a dark soy coloured patch at the front, so he removed those too. And then suddenly, there he was, standing stark naked in the Burke's basement laundry room. If he hadn't felt like a complete idiot before, he certainly felt like one now! With haste, he tipped in a whole lot of washing powder, switched the machine onto the heavy-duty cycle and slammed the lid. Then he started looking around for something he could wear upstairs. Anything. Anything at all. He was past being fussy - a dirty pair of jeans, a long shirt of Peter's, even a soiled bath mat would do. But for a room that had been purpose built for laundry, there was a startling lack of garments or bed linen of any description lying around. No basket of clothes to be folded, no dirty clothes in the hamper, no stray hand towel on the floor, not even a stray sock to speak of that had fallen behind the machine. Nothing.

Neal was at a loss what to do. Knowing his luck of late, he would be darting across the living area, just as the oldies came through the front door. It wouldn't be pretty! But what other choice did he have? The longer he lingered in the basement, the greater the chance he'd be sprung in his birthday suit and he had no doubt he'd need therapy for the rest of his life after such a traumatic experience. So with one last hopeful glance around the room, he crept up the stairs, hunched over, shielding his manhood with his hands, and his hands alone.

He continued in the same guarded posture as he made his way successfully through the living room…so far, so good! He could see the stairs in sight and at that point, if he heard the keys in the door jiggling, he could probably make a dash for it and be up on the first floor landing before they'd even so much as uttered a, 'Hey, Neal. We're home!' But regrettably, Neal was so intent on focusing on the front entryway, he hadn't paid any attention to the back door, slightly ajar as he came up out of the laundry. And he was so absorbed in listening for the telltale sounds of what may lie ahead, he did not sense anyone approaching stealthily from behind. So it all came as a frightful surprise, if not an immensely painful one when something hard walloped him across the back of his head and sent him sprawling onto the floor. He cradled the wounded area as he rolled over onto his back, just in time to see that something heavy coming at his head once more. While shielding his face, he instinctually kicked out and swept at the legs of his assailant, then clambered up onto his knees and flung the full weight of his body into what soon became a wrestling match. Arms, legs and other various body parts were flailing in all directions. Then, maybe because of his superior agility, or more likely because he was unable to be restrained through the clutching of his non-existent shirt or pants, Neal managed to get the upper hand. As he pinned his attacker to the floor, he was shocked to discover he was not straddling the wretched form of some low life, B-grade thief, but that of a stunningly beautiful young woman. In fact, he was so seriously taken back by the unforeseen discovery, he barely registered that he'd forfeited his advantage and before he could say, 'Hi, I'm Neal,' the young con found himself flat on his back, pinned to floor by one incredibly exquisite, if not, unnecessarily aggressive, home-invader…who had with the most captivating expression in her…familiar dark brown eyes…of the Burke variety! Neal opened his mouth to question if his assumption was correct when his brain was alerted to the sound of keys jiggling in the door.

And before the first syllables of, 'Get off me, NOW!' were able to roll off his tongue, Peter and Elizabeth came through the door. They'd both been smiling, and chatting happily. But the chatting stopped, and all movement stopped and the breathing stopped and the smiles, well, Neal never knew the human face could alter expressions with something that equated to faster than the speed light could travel, but apparently it could. Neal had heard people use the expression, 'Their eyes popped out of their head,' but he'd never seen it actually happen…until now. Neal couldn't help but wonder what was going through Peter's mind, seeing his baby girl, sitting on the naked body of his 'only slightly reformed' delinquent ward.

Somehow, Peter found his voice, "Renee?"

The girl spun her head around. "Dad!"

"Dad," Neal moaned, repeating that three letter word in a way that felt like there couldn't possibly be a worse three letter word to utter, ever, in the history of the universe. Neal cringed as his eyes shifted to focus on Peter's lips. He didn't need to look but he did anyway for he knew with certainty, the next word out of Dad's mouth would be,

"NEAL!"