Chapter 18

Content warning for confirmation that Neal was abused as a child. We don't actually see the abuse occurring.

While Neal slept, Peter was on the phone nailing down details of the deal to bring Neal in as a consultant. He decided it was a good sign that the kid was scared about making a commitment to the FBI. It meant he was taking it seriously, and that he grasped how big a step it would be. It also meant Peter wanted to get a deal on record as soon as possible, before anything happened to change Neal's mind. Those people Neal wanted to protect presented a risk; they might not trust Neal and the FBI to keep them out of jail. He worried that Dante was one of those people, and the man might already have a plan in the works to "rescue" Neal from the government.

By 6pm in St. Louis, it was 7pm on the East Coast. He'd gotten as far as he could with brokering a deal. The rest would have to be completed when they returned to New York. Satisfied with his progress for the day, Peter called Elizabeth. They talked about her day at the gallery at first, but then El asked, "Did you have the Caffrey Conversation?"

"Yeah. It..." Peter stopped himself from saying it went well, and instead confessed what he'd found most surprising, "It was short."

"Is that bad?"

"No. He said he'd take a deal, so I can't call it bad. But I expected it would take longer to convince him. Instead we talked a few minutes, he thought it over a few minutes... Less than an hour total from start to finish, and that included eating lunch."

In the background, Peter could hear El pouring dog food into a bowl for Satchmo. "Do you think he's taking it seriously?" she asked.

"That's the thing, El. I could tell it was very serious for him. He was obviously shaken at the thought of what he was committing to. But it also seemed like he was already almost convinced, and the conversation was more of a formality."

"Didn't you say you mentioned it to him yesterday? He's known for a while that you wanted to have this conversation, and he would have been thinking about the implications. Everything you've said and done for the last day had a part in convincing him. I think the Caffrey Conversation started in that bar and continued for almost twenty-four hours."

"Good point. When I recognized him in the bar, I thought that I had about a minute to convince him to cooperate with me. In reality everything that happened from then until now has been a test, for both of us. We proved we can work together. That's why he wanted to know if he'd be working with me if he took the deal."

"Sounds like you passed the test."

Things were making more sense now. "The son of a bitch was testing me. At the very end, right before he agreed to the deal, he started getting on my nerves by implying he couldn't trust me. He was testing me, to see if I'd try to back out of the deal if he made me mad. When he saw I wouldn't give up on him when things got rough, the Caffrey Conversation was over."

Next Peter called room service for dinner. He debated whether to wake Neal, and decided he should try to get a little food into him, to help him keep up his strength. Waking someone only five hours into an eight-hour dose of prescription night-time medicine was a challenge. Eventually his roommate had his eyes open and was eating, but clearly his brain wasn't fully engaged.

Interestingly, this meant Neal talked. A lot. It was harmless stuff, consisting mainly of commentary about art history and technique.

"Did you learn this stuff in college?" Peter asked, when Neal stopped to eat a little more. It was taking him forever to eat, because he kept talking.

"I didn't go to college."

"Your record shows degrees and financial aid from multiple schools. You didn't attend any of them?"

Perversely, now the kid decided to eat. He merely shook his head in response.

"Then what did you do after high school?"

"Travelled."

"Where?"

"Everywhere. Picked up a lot of languages, at least conversationally. I only read five of them."

Peter suspected that right now, Neal would answer any question. There were many he wanted to ask, but he didn't want to abuse the situation. He would stick to the ones that wouldn't incriminate Neal, starting with, "Were you ever in foster care?" No harm in testing out his theory about Neal's childhood, right?

"No, not really. Because she was my aunt. Or at least, they thought she was. And it was just a few weeks now and then. That first time, Child Protective Services had threatened to step in after the hospital filed their report, and she said we'd run rather than let CPS take me. I didn't understand then. I was only nine. But when I was older I understood about the rehab, and why they didn't want CPS involved. It was dangerous in our situation, you know?"

Peter didn't follow half of that, and suspected that any further explanation would be too convoluted to follow. Given Neal's penchant for getting into trouble, maybe he should stick to gathering information that would be useful in an emergency. "What's your blood type?"

"A negative."

At last, direct answers that didn't ramble. "What's your date of birth?"

"March 21, 1979."

"Do you have any allergies, especially medical allergies?"

"No. Peter, is this an interrogation?"

"This is not an interrogation. I'm learning the basics in case of an emergency. You said you wandered out of a hospital in St. Louis. When was that?"

"When I turned eighteen."

"Why were you in the hospital?"

"I drowned."

It was all Peter could do not to yell. What had the kid been thinking? "You slipped out of a hospital after drowning. If they weren't finished treating you, you're lucky you didn't end up with pneumonia."

Neal shrugged. "A week later. Different city. I've never been that sick since. I make sure I take care of myself."

Peter scoffed. "Right."

"You don't believe me?" Neal sounded hurt. "Why not?"

"Two reasons. First, there's the report from Interpol that has you jumping from one rooftop to the next across alleys in Paris about a month ago."

"That's really nothing, Peter. Those old alleyways are incredibly narrow."

"And the second reason was what happened when you regained consciousness this morning. Holding your ribs like you were in pain and telling whoever you thought was there to stop. What kind of mess did you get yourself into?"

Neal stopped eating and leaned back in his chair, away from the desk they were using as a table. "That doesn't count. It was before."

"You were a minor?" No response. "And the person who hurt you, was it an adult?" This time Neal nodded. Peter stood and looked out the window as thoughts swirled through his head. Neal had already told him, and he hadn't caught on. "You were nine, and CPS got involved after the hospital filed their report." He returned to the table, bracing his arms on the chair he'd been sitting on moments before. "And after that, you still want to protect your family from the scrutiny of the FBI?"

"They didn't know what he was doing."

"How could they not know?"

Neal crossed his arms. "Way too much beer?"

"Rehab. You stayed with your aunt when someone else was in rehab, and that's why you didn't get pulled into foster care." As the pieces of the story came together in Peter's mind, he wanted to throttle someone. "Did he do anything else, other than hit you?"

"Messed with my mind, I guess." He sighed. "That's all it was, Peter. He didn't do anything sexual."

"Tell me he went to prison."

"My family said he did. There was a trial, but I didn't testify. I was... out of it for a while. I blocked out most of the memories, but sometimes a few slip back." It took a while for Neal to say all of that, like he was tired, lost in his head, or some combination of both.

"Give me a name." When Neal didn't respond, Peter slammed his hands down on the table, rattling the empty dishes. "Damn it, Neal, give me a name. I want to make sure he went to prison."

Neal stared at Peter a moment, then regretfully shook his head. "If you look him up, you'll find details about his victim. It leads back to my family."

"After the deal we just made, you don't trust me?"

"You, I trust. Everyone who would help pull the information or could find it in my file afterwards? No." Neal sounded utterly exhausted.

Peter closed his eyes in frustration for a moment. He hated giving up before he found answers, and in his current state Neal wouldn't hold out for long. The medication made him chatty, and it must have taken great willpower to refuse to answer Peter's questions. "I could make you tell me."

"I know." Neal was staring at the table and looked miserable.

Peter stepped away, put his hands on his hips, and sighed. "Go back to bed." He caught Neal's quick glance up at him. "This isn't easy for me, Neal. It's pounded into our heads as law enforcement officers to report and follow up on child abuse as soon as we hear about it. I need you to look him up when you're back on your feet again, and if he's out of prison we'll make sure the authorities wherever he lives now are aware of his record."

"Yeah, I got it." Soon Neal was back in bed, eyes closed. He seemed relaxed, but Peter couldn't help noticing the arm that lay protectively around his ribs.

"I'm sorry, Neal," Peter said softly, unsure if his roommate was still aware of his surroundings. "I didn't mean to stir up bad memories." Not wanting Neal to drift off on thoughts of abuse, Peter decided to give him something else to think about. "You met Elizabeth today, on the phone at least. I'll always remember the day I met her." And he continued the story until Neal was breathing deeply, clearly oblivious to the world.

Author's Note: Acknowledging a math error here. Based on canon, I believe Neal was born in 1978 - this is based on the video tape with the date 1981 on it which was supposed to have been created when Neal was 3. But because I wrote him as 24 at the end of 2003, I changed his birth year to 1979 for this AU.