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Summary
Peter finds Neal after he was taken in 5x13 but that doesn't mean he's okay, in fact, he's far from it.
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Bookmark Notes:
Peter knew something wasn’t right. It couldn’t be a light bulb like that, so on and off instantaneously. Not even he was that good. And the tip off he got was that damn easel remaining blank. If Neal was truly okay, he would have sketched something, painted something, molded something. This, this was a performance. He caught the acts in between too. When Neal was at his desk, not interacting with anyone, he was quiet, distant, withdrawn, not displaying any emotion.
——————
"He needs to stay here," Peter said as he saw his wife looking visibly upset.
"You think that’s what I’m angry about? Look at him, Peter. I’m upset you didn’t bring him here sooner,” she said angrily.
He looked past her shoulder to see Neal’s thin shoulder slumped forward. Here sat at his dining room table was the infamous Neal Caffrey, one of the world’s greatest con men, now reduced to a fraction of human, devoid of any feeling, or self worth. It was the total end of the spectrum of what confidence was.
"He’s hurting--"
"Well of course he is, look at him!"
"Himself. He’s hurting himself . . . " Peter said as he pointed to his wrists.
Elizabeth shook her head in disbelief.
"I can't send him back to the hospital, they’ll send him back to jail, he doesn’t need that."
——————"I'm sorry," Neal sobbed.
"Why?" Peter asked.
"I don’t want to go back."
And then he collapsed against the wall in utter exhaustion. Peter flushed the toilet and wiped his face clean.
"I'm not going to send you to jail or the hospital because you couldn’t keep food down. I brought you here because I'm afraid you are going to hurt yourself." Peter said as he touched Neal’s forearm
Neal nodded as if he understood.
He coaxed Neal back into his room and helped him unbutton his shirt. He took one glance at the protruding ribs and clavicle bones sharply sticking out. "Neal, I know it's hard, but you have to try and keep some food down okay?”
And Neal hated being exposed like this. He hated it so much. He hated everything.
——————He put his jacket on and waited.
“Hey, Neal,” Elizabeth said as she entered the door.
He forced a smile.
“Are you cold?”
“What? Oh no, I uh, was just waiting for Peter.”
“Are you two going somewhere?”
He suddenly became very shy. “No . . . I was going to ask him to drive me somewhere.”
“Well I can take you if you'd like.”
“It's outside my radius."
"Well I can call and ask him, just tell me where you want to go,” she said gently.
"I want to . . . go to Kate’s grave.”
She frowned.
"I know it's dumb . . . " he said quietly as he read her face.
"No it's not, of course not, honey. It's just…"
"Yea . . . I know," he said quietly. He unbuttoned his jacket, defeat on his face.
"Let me call Peter and see okay?” she asked with a smile. But Neal didn’t give one back because he knew in the end he wasn’t going where he wanted to. Instead he let Elizabeth shove a peanut butter sandwich in his hand while she spoke to her husband.
He ate it slowly. It was the kind he liked, the crunchy kind, no crust. His mother used to cut it for him like this all the time…before she became a drunk.
He put the sandwich down. He decided he didn’t like peanut butter anymore.
—————— -
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