Jerking awake several hours later, Peter stared into the darkness wondering what had woken him up. The house was quiet and he could hear Satchmo's snores coming from the floor on Elizabeth's side of the bed. Through the partially opened bedroom door, he listened to see if he heard Neal crying out in his sleep or the soft murmur of the TV that would tell him the younger man was once again up and roaming around, unable to sleep. The first week had been the worst, with Neal waking up several times a night, and they had gotten into the habit of leaving the door open so they could hear more easily. Peter would wake up and either sit in the younger man's room and read while Neal struggled to fall back asleep or would join him on the couch and watch TV until he fell asleep.

"I've never slept well," Neal confessed during one of these late night sessions.

"Why not?" Peter asked. "Bad dreams? Thinking about jobs?"

He shook his head, "I don't know – just never have. It's a great time to draw though, I could do it quietly and not bother anyone else." Smiling wistfully, he said, "Sometimes, if we were … doing something, Kate would wake up and there were be dozen of drawings on the floor, sometimes of her, sometimes of other people or just copies of other works and I'd be fast asleep at the table."

"What happened to all the drawings?" He remembered Neal's cell after he had escaped and all the drawings there, but none had been of his girl friend.

He shrugged. "We burned them as we moved." Swallowing, he turned back to the Law & Order rerun they were watching, saying quietly, "Seems sort of prophetic now."

Now, lying awake early Thursday morning, Peter listened to the uneasy silence in the house. Carefully getting out of bed so as not to wake Elizabeth, he threw on a robe and padded out into the hall. A quick glance down the stairs showed no lights or the telltale flicker from the TV. Listening at the half closed guest room door, he heard nothing. Feeling a small flicker of fear start in his stomach, he gently pushed the door open and swore at the sight of the empty bed. A quick glance in the bathroom confirmed that Neal was gone. "Damn it, Neal," he muttered, heading downstairs to check the tracker. The young man couldn't have gone far or the Marshals would have notified him.

"What's wrong?" Elizabeth asked, coming into the living room a few minutes later as Peter powered up her laptop on the table.

"Neal's gone," he said tersely. "He went out the front, but at least had the good sense to put on a coat."

"So he's out roaming again," she said, moving to peer outside the living room windows. "I don't see him on the street."

Clicking through the screens, Peter sighed. "No, he's about three blocks down and moving away from the house." Heading back into the living room, he gave her a tired smile, "Do me a favor, honey. Watch the screen while I go get dressed."

Ten minutes later, he quickly walked down the street, phone pressed tight to his ear, listening to his wife's directions.

"It looks like he's turned on 9th, heading toward Union," she said.

"Excellent, I'm at the corner of Union and 8th so he should be coming right at me," he said. "Actually, I see him, thanks honey."

"Love you," she said. "And I think I'll stay up until I see him heading back toward the house."

"I do love smart," Peter said with a small laugh as he closed the phone, slipping it back into his pocket. Standing in the middle of the deserted sidewalk, he watched the familiar figure walk toward him, hesitate for a step as he was spied and then slowly continue forward. "Bit late for a walk," he said as Neal stopped in front of him. The younger man was dressed in jeans and Peter's ski jacket and his face was drawn, the dark circles standing out from the pale face in bad light from the street lamp. "It's freezing out here," he added.

The younger man glanced at his friend for a moment before shrugging. "I couldn't sleep." Then with a cocky smile, he added, "What's your excuse?"

"So instead of reading or watching TV or drawing or playing on the computer, you decide that a stroll at 2:30 in the morning, alone, in the dark, in 10 degree weather is the perfect idea," Peter shot back, seriously annoyed.

"I stayed within my half mile radius," Neal said, not bothering to hide the challenging tone to his voice. "And we're in the city that never sleeps and there are street lamps every few feet. It's not like we're in the middle of North Dakota, Peter." The last sentence came out in an oh so patient tone as if speaking to a five year old child.

Without making a conscious decision, Peter gripped him by the upper arm and, turning him slightly, swatted the younger man twice on the butt. "Do you think I'm in the mood to put up with that tone, much less that attitude right now?"

"Judging by your …" Neal started and then stopped himself, shaking his head. "No," he said simply.

"Excellent decision," Peter said, turning them both and heading back toward Union and the townhouse. A block later, he heard the younger man start to say something and then catch himself, growing silent again. "What, Neal?" he asked, forcing his voice to stay firm but patient.

"I wasn't running," he said simply. "I was just walking. I didn't even take my wallet."

The simple confession took Peter by surprise and he stopped, looking at his friend. "Neal," he said seriously, "it really never crossed my mind that you were running. I'm not annoyed because I thought you were running."

"Then why are you so annoyed?" he asked, interrupting, frustration clear on his face.

Peter stared at him. "Because it's 2:30 in the morning, you're alone and it's freezing cold out here." Why this was such a foreign concept to the younger man was beyond him. "You don't think that's enough reason for me to be worried? How long have you known me now?"

Neal smiled. "Umm, like seven, eight years now."

"And the fact that I would be worried about a friend, about my partner, putting himself in this situation is coming as a shock?"

Giving Peter another small but genuine smile, he shrugged. "But, like I said, we're in the city that never sleeps, lots of street lights."

"Don't care," Peter said, holding up his hand, cutting him off. "Let's go, it's cold." Resuming the quick walk, he added, "And for the record, you not having your wallet, which means no ID, no money, on you doesn't add to my sense of well being."

He laughed. "Sorry, it was supposed to." He stopped again and jerked up his jeans' leg slightly to reveal the blinking light. "Plus, I sort of think if anything happened, this would you let you know."

Pushing aside the thoughts of what could have happened and what that phone call would be like, the older man shook his head. "You're on a roll tonight; you've got a new rule," he said a block later. "Number Three: No walks alone between 10pm and 6am."

The other man glanced at him. "If you're just now making the rule up, why did you swat me before? Isn't there some sort of clause grandfathering in my behavior?"

Peter glanced at him, judging his reaction. "Not in this case. This clearly falls into the Stupid and Dangerous category, as well as the Things Peter Wouldn't Let Me Do If He Knew one." Watching Neal process the news out of the corner of his eye, he saw the younger man's expression darken slightly.

Neal stopped short on the sidewalk and stared at Peter. "I'm not sure I like this rule."

Stopping and looking at him, Peter inwardly sighed. "Why not, Neal? Are you upset over the fact that I'm not going to allow you to go roaming around in the dark by yourself again? Over the fact that I don't want to wake up in the middle of the night again and find you gone? What exactly is so wrong about any of that?"

The younger man took a deep breath as if about to speak and then clamped his mouth shut with a small shake of his head and looked down at the sidewalk. "Never mind, let's go. It's cold."

Knowing the discussion was far from over, Peter nodded. Five minutes later, he opened the front door to the house and ushered the other man inside. Elizabeth, the master of planning, had closed down the computer and tucked it away, but left several of the living room lights on. Pointing to the sofa, he said firmly, "Sit."

"You know, it's sort of late," Neal started, hesitating at the foot of the stairs. Then, seeing Peter's expression, he turned quickly and sat on the couch. "I'm sitting," he said unnecessarily.

Watching for a moment, Peter nodded, softening his expression as he angled one of the chairs toward the sofa and pulled it closer. Sitting down, he leaned in, arms resting on his legs and said, "So talk to me, tell me what's going on. What don't you like about me not wanting you out roaming in the middle of the night? You couldn't sleep and …" He let his voice trail off, allowing Neal to fill in the rest.

He sighed, putting his head back against the couch and closing his eyes. "I couldn't sleep so I thought I'd take a walk. That's all. No big mystery."

"Instead of doing something else," Peter said. "I would think you'd be sick of walking, considering how much you've been going out lately.

Neal shrugged. "I've stayed within my radius."

"Yes." Watching him, Peter struggled to stay quiet, letting the silence settle and giving Neal the space he needed to explain.

A minute later, Neal sat up, eyes opening in frustration. "It helps with everything, OK? Sometimes when I'm still, my mind just goes and goes and goes because it doesn't have anything to latch onto. I can't concentrate on what I'm reading and the stupid TV doesn't help. I have to do something and walking has just become that default."

"I can understand that," Peter said simply. "That makes sense, I can see where it would help, but we're going to have to find something else to do besides walking at night." Bumping the other man's foot with his own shoe, he said, "What about drawing? Or painting?"

Neal gave a sharp, bitter laugh and shook his head. "No."

"Why not?"

Shaking his head, he gave Peter a rueful smile. "It's not a good idea, trust me."

"What ideas do you have then?" he asked.

Putting his head back against the couch, Neal closed his eyes again and sighed softly.

Long hours on stake out had taught Peter patience. Sitting in the chair quietly, he watched the flicker of emotions pass over the other man's tired face. Five minutes later, he got up and moved over to the couch, bumping up against his friend gently, relieved when he felt the other man relax slightly into him. Yawning, Neal shifted as Peter lifted his arm and moved closer. "Tired?" he asked softly.

"It seems to be a pretty consistent state right now," Neal said, not opening his eyes. "I just can't sleep."

Reaching up, Peter rested his hand on the other man's head, holding him close. "I know." Letting the silence settle around them, he waited to see if Neal would continue. "So what can we do about it?" he asked, keeping his voice quiet, not wanting to actually wake him up if Neal was falling asleep.

"Walking is the only thing that helps," Neal said slowly. "I just walk and walk and try not to think." He smiled, shifting slightly into the sofa back and Peter. "It works great until my stupid anklet beeps and jolts me back to reality."

Peter chuckled. "Thank god for beeping, otherwise there's no telling where you'd end up."

"Swimming with the fishes," Neal said with a giggle.

Peter glanced at him and bit back a laugh at the uncharacteristic giggle. "I think you're getting loopy on me."

"I just don't have any other ideas, Peter," he said, his voice honest. "My brain is dead right now, I'm blank. I use to have such great ideas and they're all gone now. I have no idea what else might work but …" He shifted, coming fully awake as his eyes fixed on the other man. "I don't know what else to do."

Peter nodded. "Then you wake me up and I'll go with you. No matter what time it is, if taking a walk around the block or blocks or whatever is what you need, then I'll go with you." Watching Neal process the information, he tried to keep his expression matter of fact. Slowly standing up, he held out his hand, "Come on, it's late and if you fall asleep on the couch, there's no way I can get you up the stairs."

"You don't have to …" Neal started, looking up at him.

"Get you up the stairs?" he asked, deliberately steering the conversation to a lighter area and allowing himself to smile. "Trust me, you don't want to sleep on that thing. I have a couple of times and it kills your back."

"Fights with Elizabeth?"

Peter glared at him, pulling him to a standing position. "No, extra innings and overtimes."

Neal grinned, "If that's your story …"

Pointing him in the directions of the stairs, Peter gave him a gentle push. "Upstairs. Bed. It's late." He waited until Neal began the climb up and then slowly shut off the lights, making sure the front door was secure before following him upstairs. Knocking on the half closed guest room door a few minutes later, he nodded approvingly into the dark room. "Good, stay there until at least six, please."

Neal glanced up from the bed. "I don't know if I can sleep from where you swatted me. My butt hurts."

Hesitating for the briefest of seconds, Peter shook his head. "If you're that sensitive to pain, then I suggest you don't do anything to make me actually spank you. Tonight was two little taps just to stop the attitude, nothing more." He paused and then smiled slightly. "I'm glad it worked."

Neal picked up his book and flipping on the bedside lamp, he glanced at the older man for a brief second before giving a quick nod. "It worked," he said quietly.

He walked over and touched the other man's head for a moment. "Good," he said honestly, as he took the book and flipped off the light, darkening the room again. "Close your eyes and try to sleep." Carrying the book over to what was rapidly becoming his normal nighttime spot, he sat down in the wing chair. "Close them," he ordered as he turned on the other small light.

Sighing, Neal rolled over onto his side, and curled around a pillow and closed his eyes.

Five minutes later, Peter sensed the other man's eyes on him again. Without looking up, he casually turned the page and simply said, "Neal." His lips twitched as he heard the younger man sigh softly again. Ten minutes later, his patience was rewarded with soft snores. Creeping back into his own bed a half hour later, he kissed his wife gently.

"Everything OK?" she asked.

"We're working on it," he said honestly. "Slowly but surely."

. . . . .

"This is such utter …." Neal said in a tight voice, fists clenched as he glared at Peter across the room. "Why are you being such a bastard?"

Peter leveled his gaze and stared at Neal. "I said No." This was the second time the subject had come up in the last thirty minutes and he was tired of it.

Glancing behind him as if he could see through the drawn curtains, Neal shook his head. "It's barely dark."

"It's snowing," Peter said, enunciating the last word and praying for patience. Elizabeth had left for an event around noon so it was just the two of them home alone Friday evening. "You were out when I got home for who knows how long and that was only an hour ago. You don't need to go back out now." Taking several steps closer to his friend, Peter lowered his voice. "Plus, we're going to eat soon. Your tomato sauce smells wonderful."

"It was easy. Elizabeth and I went shopping this morning and it took ten minutes," he said with a small smile that disappeared a moment later. "I always liked Italy." Glaring at his leg for a second, he shook his head. "It's not snowing hard, Peter. It's New York, it's winter, if you don't go out when it's cold or snowing, you'd never go out."

Motioning with his hand, Peter pulled out one of the dining room chairs, picking up the deck of cards they had been playing with the night before. "Come teach me one of your card moves," he said with a smile. "I don't believe that El was able to beat both of us last night, I think you had to be stacking the deck in her favor." He recognized the restless expression in the other man's eyes and knew that it could lead to disaster. Distracting him enough that he would talk was the best option.

Neal glanced at the window again and moved toward the door. "I'm going for a quick walk. Ten minutes, tops," he said.

Moving quickly, Peter blocked his way. "Neal, stop. Take a couple of deep breaths for me, you don't have to go for walk. Come sit down with me, we'll talk, we'll eat, you can run circles around me in cards." He smiled and nodded. "Come on. It's cold and snowing out there, you don't want to really go out, do you?" Silently wondering if he was handling the situation correctly, if he should offer to go with the younger man, he waited. Making up his mind, he shifted slightly into the other man's personal space and said in a low but firm voice, "I said No and I mean it, Neal. This is not your choice right now."

Neal closed his eyes as he nodded. "Cards, please," he said in a strained voice.

"Excellent," Peter said, reaching out and squeezing his arm as they turned away from the door. "You can show me what you did last night."

The other man laughed, "Yeah, so you can catch me next time. I don't think so."

Peter could tell the younger man was distracted, so was he of course, but they both pretended otherwise and gradually, he could tell Neal was getting calmer, more relaxed and into showing off his skills. Eying the face down line of three cards in front of him thirty minutes later, he knew the queen wasn't in any of them - of course - but he also had no clue when or how Neal had picked it up. He had been watching carefully, not letting himself be distracted by the banter or flashing cards, and he still didn't catch the younger man doing the switch.

"Come on, Peter," Neal said with a small, honest smile. "Where is she? You know she was just there …I showed her to you."

He laughed. "Yeah, I have no idea. Your front pocket?"

Neal grinned, looking at his friend, not at the cards, as he flipped them over, one by one, each one a queen.

Peter laughed again. "I give up!"

"And I made it as easy as possible for you," Neal laughed. "All you had to do was pick one and you would have gotten it."

Standing up, shaking his head, he grinned back. "Yeah, somehow I doubt that. I would have picked one and somehow my card would have turned into the ten or an ace."

"You never know," Neal said sagely. "You sometimes just have to take a chance and you'll find her." His fingers ghosted over the red queen as his face turned more serious. "Even knowing the risks, you still have to keep looking for her."

Peter watched him, "But the smart man knows when the game is fixed and when it's over and you have to be able to move on."

The younger man shrugged, eyes still fixed on the cards. "It's easier to keep lying to yourself," he said softly. "You can make yourself believe that you're smart enough to watch all the moves, pick up on all the tricks and see through the sleight of hand and that you'll be able to find her in the end. I just wasn't smart enough or quick enough. I could have found her if I had been."

"No one is that smart all the time, Neal," he said cautiously, not liking the dark turn the moment had taken. "Come on, put the cards away – I think we're done with them for the night. I heard the oven a minute ago, so why don't you set the table and I'll pull the manicotti from the oven and start the bread. I'm sure there's something in the wine cabinet that will suit you well enough."

Scooping up the cards, Neal nodded slowly. "OK."

Peter looked up from putting the bread in the oven a few minutes later and eyed Neal, silently cursing. "Going somewhere?" The younger man was standing in the kitchen, holding Peter's ski jacket and gloves, shifting slightly.

He swallowed. "I don't know."

"No, you're not," Peter said firmly. "We're going to eat dinner in just a few minutes."

"We spent six months in Naples," he said quietly. "Our landlady made the best sauce, she taught me how to make it, said real men knew how to cook." He smiled slightly at the memory before shaking his head as if banishing the thoughts. "So I'm going to go out, but you enjoy dinner. I'll have some when I get back, I'm not hungry right now anyway."

Moving closer, Peter shook his head, "No. We're going to eat."

"No," Neal said, his eyes tightening. "You can't tell me what to do, Peter."

The older man looked at him. "Yeah, I can." Nodding toward Neal's left ankle, he said, "You listening to me and doing what I say is part of our agreement." Keeping his eyes focused on his partner, he continued, "And we agreed on a separate, private arrangement as well. One you brought up and said you wanted and I agreed to. Both of those tell me that yeah – I can tell you want to do and yeah – you're supposed to listen and do it."

Glancing away for a moment, Neal shifted his attention back with a small smirk, "I don't care, I'm leaving." He stared at Peter for a second before turning and walking out the kitchen door.

It was a childish answer, Peter knew, akin to sticking out his tongue and saying 'I dare you' to get the result he wanted or needed. And, he knew Neal knew this too, at least on some level, and it was a test. It was as much of a test as the initial conversation, as much of a test as Neal not saying Good-bye when he was leaving or throwing Peter's offer back in his face in prison three weeks ago. The chase and the game that had always been between them: prove that you know me better than just the face I show you. Peter also knew that it was a test he could never fail without disastrous results. "Neal," he barked sharply, catching up with him in four quick steps.

"What?"

Taking the coat from him, Peter tossed it on the sofa, "I said No, several times, I meant No and I'm sick of saying it. Obviously, I need to do more than just talk to make you understand." Holding him by the arm, Peter swatted him hard across the butt. "Let's go."

"What if I don't want to?" Neal shot back, pulling back slightly.

"Then you say so. Until then, I'm going to handle this how I think is best and what I know you'll respond to." Giving the younger man's arm a gentle squeeze, Peter said, "It's all about knowing the other person and trusting them, not just their actions but with your own."

. . . . .

The basement was mostly Peter's area, where he could go and spread out files for big cases – especially those of elusive cons whose alleged crimes took up boxes- or retreat to watch TV while El needed quiet for her own work. The older TV from the living room had been moved down there when they got the flat screen and the furniture from their first apartment had fit in perfectly, the thicker lines and sturdier fabric complementing the casual air of the area. It seemed fitting somehow, he reflected, watching impassively as Neal reluctantly took off his jeans, since their initial relationship began in this room with Peter pouring over files for hours. Sitting on the couch, he held out his hand, "Come on."

Allowing himself to be pulled over and settled face down across the other man's knees, Neal shifted against the couch. "I just wanted to go for a walk," he said. "I'm not sure what the big deal was in that."

Peter swatted him again. "The big deal is that I said No, multiple times, and you still refused to listen. That's what the big deal is, Neal."

He squirmed but remained quiet.

Swatting him three more times in rapid succession, Peter continued, "When I say No, I mean No. I'm done letting you have free rein. There are rules and consequences if you break those rules, and the consequence that I think works best is going to be dealing with it privately, between you and me." He swatted him again. "Otherwise …. I refuse to see you back in jail again if I can prevent it."

"But it was just a walk!" he protested again and then gasped, squirming more as Peter pushed down his boxers, exposing his butt. "Peter!"

"This is about more than just taking a walk, Neal," he said firmly as he picked up the paddle lying next to him. "Tell me what this is about."

"I don't know!"

Bringing the paddle down with a sharp swat, Peter said, "Yes, you do." Methodically working his way down the other man's butt, he delivered four sharp swats. "What's this about, Neal?" he asked softly.

"Fuck off, Peter," Neal shot back, tense and rigid under the punishment.

"And that's not it," he answered simply, raising the paddle again and delivering a half dozen hard swats in rapid succession.

"Peter, please," he said, his voice cracking slightly as he tried to squirm from under the other man's hard grasp.

Putting the paddle down for a moment, Peter pushed back the other man's damp hair. "Tell me what this is about, Neal," he said softly. "Why am I doing this? Why is this important?"

"I don't know!" he said, struggling to get up.

He picked up the paddle again and brought it down in another firm swat. "Then I suggest you start thinking about it because I promise, you'll get tired of this long before I will." Landing a dozen more swats on the rapidly reddening skin, he put the paddle back down and stroked his back. "Why am I doing this, Neal?"

"You said you'd do this," Neal said between shallow breaths. "You said since I didn't trust my own judgment right now, you'd take the choice away from me, make me live within your boundaries and rules."

"That's exactly right," he said. "You're not the only one responsible right now for you. If you make the wrong choice, I'll pull you up short before you fall. Your safety net, remember?"

"My not soft safety net," Neal countered, squirming.

Swatting him, Peter said, "The always will catch you safety net." Swatting him two more times quickly, he continued, "Which means when I say No to something, that means No." He heard the younger man's breath catch and felt him tense as he struggled against his emotions. "It's OK," he said softly, patting his butt. "I know it hurts." Pulling up his boxers, he slowly eased him off his lap and then in a smooth motion, brought him up to sit on the sofa, leaning against his chest. "I've got you, Neal. It's OK," he whispered softly.

"Everything hurts," Neal said quietly. "Being numb was better."

"Only in the short term," Peter said firmly, remembering how terrifying those days of video had been, watching the blankness and reading the reports of no talking, no activity. Even when he knew the younger man was being closely watched, it wasn't until he saw him actually speak to someone again that he felt the slightest loosening of the iron bands around his chest.

Choking on a breath, Neal struggled slightly. "I want up."

Peter tightened his hold. "No, you're fine here."

"But …"

"Are you going to be sick?" he asked.

"No."

Shifting so he was leaning back more, the younger man held closely against him, he swatted his butt, "Then you're fine for awhile." He could feel the slight tremors running through the younger man's muscles as he struggled to hold himself together. "I've got you," he repeated softly. He felt Neal nod his head against his chest and smiled inwardly.

"You think Elizabeth's clients pictured this little scene when they gave her a paddle," Neal asked quietly ten minutes later.

Peter laughed. "I don't know but I doubt it. I have to admit, I'm very glad I hung on to it." Giving the other man a gentle nudge, he asked, "How are you feeling? Do you want to get up now?"

"I'm fine," Neal said automatically as he sat up slowly as Peter's arms loosened. Not looking at the other man, he stood up and scooped up his jeans from the arm of the chair. "I'm going to go take a shower."

"You have 15 minutes," Peter said firmly, standing up and watching his friend. "Then we're going to eat."

"But I'm really …" Neal started.

Holding up his hand, Peter shook his head. "Don't want to hear it. You need to eat, so shower, change, whatever and back down in 15 minutes." He saw a smart retort flash across Neal's face and he looked at him. "Neal," he said simply. "Fifteen minutes or we'll come right back down here."

The other man gave a quick nod before moving toward the stairs.

. . . . .

Stripping off his clothes with shaking fingers and stuffing them into the bathroom hamper, Neal studied himself in the mirror over the sink while the water heated in the shower. He had been avoiding a direct look for weeks, concentrating on pieces while he shaved and deliberately not looking while he brushed his teeth at the sink. Now, he looked full on and shook his head. His face was still drawn and the circles under his eyes made them seem too big for his face. The casual confidence that had been his mask for years was gone and he felt his eyes prickle as he studied his face. Swallowing hard, he shook his head as he turned away and stepped into the shower. The warm water hit his sore butt and he gave a small cry that quickly turned into a sob. Clamping a hand over his mouth, he shook, rocking slightly as he struggled to regain control.

. . . . .

Well aware of the time, Peter didn't need to glance at the kitchen clock to see that Neal was back in the kitchen in 13 minutes. Glancing up from the bread loaf he was slicing he nodded and gave an approving smile. "Why don't you go ahead and set the table while I finish up in here."

"It smells good," Neal said quietly as he opened the cabinet for the plates. "I haven't made that sauce in awhile. I'm glad Elizabeth suggested it this morning."

Picking up the thread of the conversation, Peter nodded, "Yeah. I'm sure she'll want some reheated when she gets home tonight." He laughed, carrying the hot dish of manicotti into the dining room. "She rarely eats at events and is always starving when she gets home."

"What time do you think she'll be home?" he asked as he sat down at the table.

Peter shrugged. "I think she said around 10:00 or 10:30. It was some business event that started around 4:00." As much of a professional at small talk as his wife, he allowed the conversation to drift around Elizabeth's work, filling in the silence with stories of other jobs and funny clients. That got Neal going about museums and private galleries he had seen or allegedly been inside. The evening passed quickly, with them ending up quietly watching a movie and Neal not even glancing at the windows or making a move toward the closet.

. . . . .

Jerking awake, Peter glanced at the clock that glowed 3:28 in the darkness. The familiar glow came from the guest room as he made his way quietly down the hall. Peering through the crack of the partially open door, he saw Neal standing by the window, arms wrapped tightly around his chest as he stared out onto the dark street. He knocked softly as he pushed the door open and stepped in.

"I wasn't going anywhere," Neal said in a quiet voice, not turning around.

"I didn't think you were," the older man answered honestly, walking over to him. Reaching out, he put a hand on his back. "Everything OK?" He could feel the tense muscles under his hands twitching and he instinctively rubbed slightly, trying to ease the tension.

Nodding silently, Neal reached up and quickly brushed at his face, still staring out the window.

"Anything you want to talk about?"

Shaking his head, the other man remained silent.

Peter could feel the tension and minute shaking under his hand and forced himself to remain still and quiet.

"Thank you," the younger man said softly several minutes later.

"Always," he said in a firm voice. Giving the tee shirt covered back another pat, he said, "You should get back to bed. It's too early to be up." Taking a step back, he touched his arm to encourage him when the younger man didn't move, "Come on."

"Yeah," Neal said in a shaking voice, allowing himself to be half guided the few steps back to the bed and settling in. Rolling over on his side, he curled up around one of the pillows as he glanced up at the other man. "I'm good," he said. "You don't have to stay."

Peter smiled as he reached out and touched the other man's head for a moment. "I'm not sure I'd ever put Neal Caffrey and Good in the same sentence." His smiled widened at the mock outrage that the other man flashed. "Close your eyes," he ordered gently, sitting down on the edge of the bed, not wanting to be as far as the chair. "I'll tell you the story of how Elizabeth and I got this house," he said, resting his hand on Neal's shoulder. As he spoke, he felt the tension slowly drain out of the other man as he drifted off to sleep.

The End