Title: Ashes to Ashes

Rating: T

Summary: AU. As a young agent, Peter goes undercover to break up a prostitution ring and rescues a child named Neal.

Spoilers: None

Warnings: contains druguse and nonexplicit references to noncon and childabuse

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Sitting on his futon, watching college basketball and drinking an ice-cold beer.

No….

Relaxing on a lounge chair under a palm tree and sipping one of those fruity, colorful drinks with a paper umbrella in it. (Which he is comfortable enough in his sexuality to be seen drinking, despite what his ex from college said when they went to that luau mixer. He just usually prefers a simple, non-frilly beer, thank you very much.)

Still… No

No matter where Peter tried to imagine himself, he still could not get his mind off this case. He had woken up this morning to find the kid awake, panicking, and trying to pull the tube out of his throat. The nurses quickly sedated him before he could hurt himself, but at least they agreed with the boy's self-diagnosis and took him off the ventilator.

A few hours later, Peter got a call from one of the other agents on the case. The kid's father, Carl Anderson, sold him to Hal Morgan three years ago for a quarter gram of meth. Anderson, aka Father of the Year, traded his only child (Neal, Peter reminded himself) for a single high. Anderson died from an overdose a month later. Peter was grateful because otherwise he would have probably ended up with a life sentence for killing the piece of shit.

They were still trying to locate Neal's mother.

Peter sighed, not feeling any calmer, and rested his throbbing forehead on the cool wall in front of him. He knew those relaxation techniques the academy psychologists taught them during those seminars for coping in a stressful situation were utter crap.

A tap on his shoulder and a worried sounding, "Are you okay?", interrupted him from his slightly hostile thoughts about the federal funding of glorified quacks

Peter stiffened and reminded himself that, yes, he was standing in a very public hospital gift shop where anybody could see his momentary lapse from reality. "Yea, fine. I was just," he turned and found curious blue eyes staring back at him. "I…" he closed his mouth when he forgot what he was going to say and instead took a step forward. Apparently there was a short table covered with get well cards in front of him, which he did not recall being there before his surprisingly unhelpful commune with the dingy grey wall, and he stumbled into it when he moved towards her, knocking the table and cards to the ground with a large clatter.

"Wonderful," he muttered, crouching to attempt to gather up the mess as quickly as possible. He placed the table upright and piled the hastily gathered (and somewhat crumpled) cards on top.

"Here," she said, offering him the cards he had missed. She was beautiful, with long brown hair and the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. She gave him one dimpled smile, her eyes twinkling with restrained laughter, and he was reduced to a flushing thirteen year old.

He chuckled in a poor attempt to conceal his embarrassment. "Thanks," he said. "I… uh... I didn't see it," he finished lamely, feeling his flush deepen.

Her dimples became more pronounced as her smile widened. "Clearly," she agreed, nodding solemnly.

Peter genuinely laughed at that, but then inwardly sighed when he saw the elderly clerk glaring at them and looking as if to storm over. "I should probably buy one of these..." he glanced down at the bent card in his hand, "outrageously overpriced cards. Seriously? It's a piece of paper!"

She picked up a card of her own. "I'm sure there are many people who would be willing to pay good money for sentimentality like this," she said.

Peter glanced at the cartoon on the cover of hers. "It's a doctor threatening a turtle with a needle."

"It's kind of cute," she responded, wrinkling her nose adorably at the kitschy drawing.

"It's animal abuse. What person would be comforted by the torturing of turtles?"

"So I'm guessing you won't be buying this one," she giggled, placing the card back on the pile.

Peter thought of the track marks on Neal's arms and his silent panic attack and shook his head. He doubted the poor kid would react well to something like that. "I'll stick with seven dollars worth of drawn balloons saying 'Feel Better'."

"Well I'm sure whoever you buy it for will really appreciate it," she said. "I'm Elizabeth, by the way," she informed him, holding out her hand.

He smiled, shaking her hand. "Peter. So… Are you getting a card?"

Elizabeth nodded. "My grandfather broke his hip last week. I thought maybe a card and some flowers would brighten up his room." She stepped over to a display of tiny figurines. "Are you visiting someone?" she asked.

"Yea, I'm visiting my," Peter paused, searching for a way to describe this situation to an outsider. He decided on simply being vague. "Neal. He's eleven. I'm not sure what he would like."

"Oh, okay. Hmm," she murmured, walking over to another table. Peter, after a moment's deliberation, followed and watched her rummage around the various 'gifts' displayed there. "Here we go," she declared, flourishing a plush monkey. It wore a stethoscope.

Peter raised an eyebrow and took the monkey for closer inspection. "Are you sure? Isn't it a little girly?"

"It's just a toy," Elizabeth answered, shrugging. "If he's stuck in a hospital, it might be comforting."

"I guess I can give it a try," Peter said. He looked at the card and stuffed animal in his hands, then smiled at the beautiful brunette. "Thanks for the help."

"No problem," Elizabeth responded. "I hope your Neal feels better soon." She began walking towards the flowers in the back. "It was nice meeting you, Peter," she said over her shoulder, giving him another gorgeous smile.

"I hope your grandfather gets better, too," he called back. Peter knew he had a ridiculously goofy grin on his face, but could not bring it in himself to care even when the angry clerk snorted in amusement while ringing up his purchases.

And the grin still was not wiped off his face when he realized the man had overcharged him for the damn card.

The first thing Peter saw when he walked into Neal's bedroom was an empty bed. The covers were crumpled on the ground and the IV needle, which should have been attached to Neal's hand, was dangling off the side of the bed.

He momentarily panicked, thinking Morgan had somehow hurt the boy in retaliation for his arrest, but then he heard a muffled whimper. Peter looked around, searching the corners and empty closet. It was not until he heard a small cough that he realized the sounds were coming from under the bed.

Peter lowered himself until he was lying flat on the ground. He found himself, for the second time that day, looking into a set of blue eyes. Only instead of flirty and amused, these eyes were frightened and suspicious.

"Hey Neal," he quietly greeted. "What are you doing down here, buddy?" Neal simply stared at him through the limp curls covering his eyes.

"Do you want to come back onto the bed?" The kid ignored him, curling his little body up into a protective ball. Peter sighed.

"I bought you a toy monkey from the store downstairs. I can show it to you when you get back on the bed," Peter attempted to bribe him. Neal continued to ignore him, just curling tighter onto himself.

Peter lost track of how long the two of them laid there. He was waiting for the kid to get tired of the floor and get on the bed, and he assumed Neal was just waiting for him to go away.

Then Neal began coughing. It was one of those long painful-sounding bouts that did not give the boy a chance to catch his breath. Peter instinctively reached over to pat his back. The kid flinched, which seemed to only make the coughing worse. When Neal started wheezing between each cough, Peter decided that the kid's phobia of touch was not worth the boy asphyxiating because of a speck of dust

He pulled Neal from his hiding spot and onto his lap, gently patting him on the back. Eventually, the coughing tapered off. Peter, once he was sure the boy was okay, reluctantly allowed the boy to extract himself and retreat to his hiding spot under the bed.

Peter slowly began pulling himself back onto his feet. "I"ll be right back, Neal. I'm just going to get the doctor to…"

"No!" Peter froze at the sound of the terrified exclamation. He looked down at the boy. "You know the doctors won't hurt you, right Neal?" Neal simply shook his head and tucked his face beneath a skinny arm.

"I swear the doctor won't hurt you. I would never let him," Peter promised. He watched the kid for a moment. It did not look like Neal was in any immediate danger, so Peter reluctantly sat back down against the wall. "Okay," he conceded, "we can just sit here for awhile."

Neal decided that he was ignoring Peter again so they just sat on the floor silently. Peter hoped the boy would eventually fall asleep so he could get him on a bed and call in a nurse. After a few minutes, Peter reached up and pulled the monkey off the table he had dropped it on.

He set it on the floor near himself, where Neal could see it if he ever lifted his face from where it was tucked into his elbow.

About an hour later, Peter realized he must have dozed off himself because he woke to find a small body, with a plush monkey wrapped in his arm, pressed against his thigh.

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! So there is an evil billboard outside my office window now. How can I not devote my work hours to writing White Collar fic when Matt Bomer's face is staring in on me all day! (I kid… It's actually delightful to stare at him all day)

Thanks for all the encouraging reviews! I love them all!