A/N: Random one-shot that won't be continued. It may be a little OCC, but it's pre-series so I thought I'd take my own spin on it. I didn't write this as slash, but if you look hard enough, it's probably there. Please review.

People always said that drowning was one of the most peaceful ways to die. Apparently there was an air of tranquility about it, a softness, a light, a sense of just letting everything go, of being truly free.

Free from the burden of life and the troubles that come with it. The niggling worries, the gnawing and totally unimportant problems that plague every human.

In the water, in the silence, they were nothing except pale, abstract concepts floating just above the surface, reachable, touchable and yet so far away.

Nothing could hurt Neal in the water.

The iciness of it seemed to breathe for Neal, carrying him, holding him so every limb was weightless and belonging to someone else. Neal could feel everything, the tingling of his toes, the gentle buzzing in his ears, the dulling pain in his head from the pressure, the twanging of his broken wrist.

But he couldn't really feel it. The sensations were present but simply hovering outside the bubble of his consciousness without really being a part of him.

He could ignore them and simply drift, float, like a lifeless jellyfish in the darkness.

Neal's eyes were slits of blue in that inky blackness, eyelashes clumped together into five black triangles, head nestled and supported by the water, dark hair fanned, like petals around a bud.

Neal was at peace and that peace was a new, brilliant, fantastic concept that he realized he'd been missing for quite some time.

Forever.

But forever never lasts for very long.

He didn't notice the hand on his bicep, the arms around his waist, not until whatever it was tore him from the bliss.

Neal was suddenly and abruptly wrenched from the silence with a violent hold and he swore he could physically feel the oxygen explode in his veins, his head.

Something was breaking through the water and the peace that came with it, destroying it, mauling it into this warped, twisted and painful thing.

It evaded his senses all at once and Neal felt himself gasp at the jolt of it.

The paralyzing punch of life.

Air.

God, he'd forgotten how sweet and how beautiful air was. Neal felt someone settle him on the ground as he choked on the heavenly oxygen while it flooded his lungs. It hurt so much.

It was like his chest was on fire, flames licking at his flesh, his throat and he was sick.

Dirty river water tasted vile.

Someone rubbed circles in-between his shoulder blades, one hand on his head, smoothing back his fringe from his face and Neal wanted to open his eyes and look at the person who'd saved him from the water but he was too busy sobbing with the effort of breathing.

"Neal, Neal, you okay? I told you, Neal! I warned you not to mess with Bates!"

Peter. The conman almost grinned at that voice, but then realized that he was too weak for that. He let himself fall limp, arms shaking, world spinning but surprisingly, he didn't just slump onto the concrete because the FBI agent held him up in a vice-like grip against his chest.

"I said I wanted to catch you, Neal, but not like this." Peter seemed to trail off at the end as he glanced down at the pale, shivering, blue-lipped young man in his arms. "Are you alright?"

Neal wanted to say that he was because he could hear the concern, the worry, in the older man's voice and he could feel the way Peter clung onto him like he was going to slip away.

Neal didn't reply, so Peter shook him gently.

"Neal?"

"Hmm." Neal felt that was all he could manage and it seemed to please Peter because he chuckled lightly.

"Bates could still be around. We need to leave. I have back-up coming, they were going to help me catch you in a hope you'd confess all your sins – " Peter froze and Neal turned his head from where it had been cushioned in Peter's neck to glance out at the bank of the river and the row of disused warehouses. "Shhh."

Neal watched as a lone figure stopped beside the water and looked out at the blue. There's no doubt it was Anthony Bates but thankfully, Peter had dragged Neal behind some oil drums so they were concealed from the criminal's sight.

After a few moments, Bates turned away and disappeared and Peter released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"He didn't see me before, he probably thinks you're dead. You'd have thought he would at least check."

"Just…be glad he didn't." Neal murmured softly, voice hoarse, throat sore.

His had let his eyes drift shut again.

"Damn, you're cold." Somehow, Peter had planned ahead enough to shrug off his blazer before jumping in after Neal and left it behind the drums. He managed to wrap it around Neal's shaking frame, tightly and then held him closer. "Jones will be here soon."

"I have to go." Neal raised his head, pushing feebly against Peter's chest, muscles seizing with the cold and the lack of oxygen. "Before…"

"You're not going to get arrested, kid. We've got nothing on you, as per usual. Besides, you need a hospital. I don't even want to think about what you swallowed in that river. " Peter wasn't angry and that both surprised Neal and made him feel a little warmer inside. He wasn't sure when the agent had become a friend as opposed to a fed, the hunter and the protector and while it confused Neal, he felt too damn tired to say anything else.

He also knew Peter was correct. The FBI had nothing on him. Neal was too clever for that.

They lapsed into silence, the water lapping at the banks, Neal's harsh breathing, and Peter's quiet mumblings.

"Peter." Neal winced at the pungent river water coating his dry, cut lips. "Peter."

"Yeah, Neal?"

"Why did you…save me?" Neal managed to open his eyes and watch the softening of Peter's gaze, the slight tug of a smile at his lips. The agent thought deeply, quietly before raising Neal up a little higher in his arms so the younger man's head rested firmly beneath his chin.

"I guess I wasn't ready to give up on you."

Neal wasn't entirely sure what the other meant by that, but he let it go.

He trusted Peter enough to just settle, bask in the serenity that breathing itself had.

Neal was wrong because there wasn't only peace in the water, in the valley between life and death.

There was a blissful peacefulness in the trust that he held for this man, the belief in another human being.

Peter had saved him and Neal had no doubt that he would do it again, one day.

Comforted by that knowledge, Neal let himself fall asleep to the sound of Peter's heart thudding next to his ear.

A constant, steady and trustworthy beating, laced with the goodness of gold.