A/N: This is my take on what could have happened after the events of 6x06 Au Revoir. It's based on my personal interpretation of the show's ending. The story will pick up right after Neal's death and fill in the missing year (bear with me, please) before moving on to the show's final scene and beyond.

I will change the 'one year later' scene a little so that it fits better with the story I have in mind, but other than that I will stick to what happened on the show. I might also reference a few things from my other White Collar Story (The First Day of the Rest of our Lives), which deals with how Peter and El first met, but it's no problem if you haven't read that one.

"Honey?"

Peter straightened his tie, using his reflection in the refrigerator door. He hated everything about the way he looked in this dark suit and black tie.

"Honey, we need to go! Actually, we needed to go five minutes ago," he called again.

Waiting for his wife to get ready was nothing unusual. He had long since learned not to question her beauty routine. And today of all days, Peter didn't want to rush her. He understood her reluctance. He understood it only too well. But not leaving the house wouldn't change anything about what they needed to do today.

Peter was beginning to get impatient. He just wanted to get this over with. As awful as that sounded.

"El?"

There was still no answer, and now Peter started to worry. He left the kitchen and headed upstairs. He only stopped to pet Satchmo, who was lying at the foot of the stairs. His head rested on his paws, and he gave a soft whine and wagged his tail listlessly.

Great, even his dog was depressed. Peter ran a hand over his face. What a day.

Slowly, he made his way up the stairs. The bedroom was empty, but the door to the bathroom was ajar. Peter pushed it all the way open and finally laid eyes on his wife.

El was wearing a simple black dress, and she had her hair up in a bun. She looked like she was ready to go. Except she was perched on the edge of the bathtub, her shoulders slumped, her head in her hands, sobbing quietly.

And Peter's heart broke all over again.

"Oh, honey…" He took two quick steps towards Elizabeth, so he could sit next to her and put an arm around her shoulders.

"I'm… sorry," she wheezed between sobs. "I'm making us late."

"Well, Neal never showed up on time either. I don't think he would mind," Peter said softly.

Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say because El's crying got worse, not better, and she buried her face in his chest.

Peter sighed and held her closer, using both arms now. "Maybe you should stay here, hon. All this stress isn't good for you."

As if all of this wasn't bad enough, as if it wasn't enough of a burden to carry, there was also the constant worry about the baby. They weren't the same young people anymore who had decided that they wanted to have a child. That had been years ago. It was why they had given up hope of ever getting pregnant. But now, here they were.

It was their own little miracle.

And they could just as easily lose it again. There was always some risk involved in a geriatric pregnancy – even under the best of circumstances. Enough for Peter to wish he could wrap El in bubble wrap or put her behind bulletproof glass. Or, in lieu of such drastic measures, at least make sure that she was happy and worry-free.

His wife's tears staining his shirt were proof that he had failed. Yet another reason why he hated this.

He had failed Elizabeth, he had failed their unborn son, and, above all, he had failed Neal.

And if he had hoped to convince El to stay behind, he had failed at that, too. Because his words had the opposite effect.

She suddenly stood and wiped her eyes. "I'm coming. I'm pregnant, not sick."

"Honey…" Peter said and then faltered because he had no idea what else to do or say.

El looked him squarely in the eye. "I have to do this. I have to… say goodbye." She bit down hard on her lower lip to stop fresh tears from falling.

She looked so incredibly fragile, standing there, fighting tears – way too fragile for Peter's liking. She was the single most important person in his life, carrying the second most important tiny human being inside of her, and she was right. She usually was. The only way for them both to move forward and be strong enough to have a healthy baby was to actually move forward.

To leave this bathroom and go to this goddamn funeral.

Peter stood and took El's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Without another word they left the house together.

It was raining cats and dogs. Really, as if this day could get any worse. Peter wasn't about to tempt fate, though, and drove carefully. Better late than dead in a traffic accident. They were dealing with too much tragedy already.

At the cemetery, they huddled under one big umbrella and joined the others. It was only a small service, and the rain had kept anyone away who wasn't actually close to Neal. Or who hadn't been close.

Past tense. He needed to get used to that.

There was Jones, and he was holding an umbrella for Diana and little Theo, who was mercifully asleep. Peter envied the little guy for being so blissfully unaware of the grief surrounding him. June stood right next to him, dabbing her eye with a handkerchief. Mozzie was off to the side, standing by himself and without an umbrella. He looked wet and miserable. That seemed about right. And just before the minister started speaking, Sara joined them with a sad, apologetic little smile. She had come all the way from London. It was touching. For whatever that was worth now.

The minister kept it brief, and when he was done, he gave Peter a solemn nod. He was supposed to join him and deliver a eulogy, but he was holding both the umbrella and El. She was shaking like a leaf, be that from the cold, exhaustion, or grief. It didn't really matter. He couldn't leave her side.

Finally, Mozzie moved and walked over to them. "I've got this, Suit," he said quietly and took the umbrella from Peter as well as El. He was dripping wet and couldn't offer a lot of warmth, but El didn't seem to mind. She gladly held on to the strange little man who had become a dear friend.

Now, Peter was the one feeling cold. And alone. He didn't want to take those couple of steps forward. He didn't want to be the one to bury his partner. His friend.

It wasn't supposed to end like this. Neal had earned his freedom. He had brought down the Pink Panthers. He had helped to stop Keller. Peter wasn't sure what had gone down between Neal and Keller exactly, but whatever it was, Neal had earned Peter's trust, enough for him to give him the benefit of the doubt. And either way, Neal hadn't deserved this – a cold grave and his name on a tombstone.

When Peter walked up to the minister, who offered him a second umbrella, he noticed something that was lying on Neal's tombstone. A little origami flower. Alex. She must have been here earlier. The thought made Peter smile just a little bit.

Not for long, though. He heaved a sigh when he looked from the sad faces of his colleagues, friends, and family to Neal's closed casket. He didn't even like giving speeches.

Damn you, Neal.

"Neal Caffrey is…" Peter winced, "was…" he corrected himself softly, "… actually, I have no idea who Neal was. Every time I thought I did, he changed. I thought he was just another bond forger, a talented one, yes, but nothing special, nothing the FBI hadn't seen and handled before. But then he made me chase him halfway around the world and turned my life upside down. He was smart, brilliant, unapologetic, and brazen as hell. In other words, he was a giant pain in the ass."

Jones and Diana chuckled. As the ones who had worked with Neal, too, they knew this to be true.

"I didn't want to work with him at first because I knew he would be impossible to handle. And he was. He never stayed in the car when I told him to stay in the car, he never shut up when I told him to shut up, and every time I turned my back on him, he ran, slipped his anklet, or did who knows what. And somehow, that made him the best damn CI I have ever worked with."

Or will ever work with again, Peter thought. There would never be another Neal, and he had promised El. No more handling, no more field work. He was done. They both were, only in Neal's case, it was a lot more final.

"I figured I could tolerate Neal's shenanigans as long as I could keep him contained. But the first week we worked together, I found him sitting on my couch, talking to my wife, and petting my dog. Next thing I knew, he was invited for dinner. That was Neal. He was a charmer. There was no containing him. But he was not a liar. He never lied about who he was, and he never made empty promises. He made mistakes and plenty of them, but he also made up for them. He always came through for me, for the team, and for our family when it really mattered."

And now, Neal had come through for them one last time. Their lives had been a lot more dangerous with Neal in them – a handful of kidnappings and near-death experiences came to mind, and, most recently, going undercover with the Pink Panthers – but they were all still here. They were safe, and their family could grow. Neal was the only one who wasn't.

"Neal was a good man. One of the best I have ever known. Catching him, working with him, and learning to be his friend was the biggest challenge of my life – and my greatest honor." Peter rested a hand on his tombstone. "Goodbye, my friend. Whoever you were in the end and whatever you did, you will never be forgotten."

Peter stepped back from the grave. Everyone else was in tears again. They lowered the casket into the ground, and then it was done.

Just like that. The end of a truly remarkable life. And they were the lucky or the cursed ones left behind to pick up the pieces.

Slowly, one by one, they turned away. They were all going to June's, per her request. She said that the house was so terribly empty now that he was gone. Mozzie was still taking care of El, or rather, they were taking care of each other, so Peter was free to stay behind a little longer.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw something or someone move, and it diverted his attention away from the fresh grave. When Peter turned around and caught a glimpse of the person responsible, he froze.

It was James Bennett.

Peter was frozen for a couple more seconds, then his blood began to boil. He was here as a friend to grieve, not as an FBI agent to make an arrest, but damn it all to hell, he pulled his gun.

Bennett tried to run but Peter was faster. "FBI! Freeze! Or I swear to God…" he warned him.

Slowly, Bennett turned around to face him fully. "Please, Peter, I'm just here as a father who lost his son," he pleaded with him.

Peter might have believed his pain if he hadn't been absolutely furious – or if James had chosen to do the right thing just once in his life. "You were not his father," Peter spat. "Not the one he deserved, anyway."

"Oh, and I suppose you were?" Bennett asked coolly. "Then why is Neal dead now? He chose you over me and what did it get him? His name on a headstone! He could have lived if you hadn't made him believe he needed to be better. So you can try to make me the villain all you want, Peter, but this is not on me. It's on you."

Peter clenched his teeth. He was not going to listen to a word that came out of that man's mouth. But that didn't stop him from hitting a nerve. There was only one thing Peter had to say to him in response.

"James Bennett, you are under arrest for the murder of Senator Terrance Pratt."

"Oh, you mean the same crime you were arrested for and then not indicted because of a confession I made? Except I never made that confession because Neal forged it and you were cleared on false evidence, which, conveniently, you never mentioned to anyone."

"Because the truth is that you did kill Pratt," Peter replied, taking a step forward while Bennett took a step back.

"So you say. But I'm sure it would raise a lot of uncomfortable questions if people found out now how you and Neal worked together outside the law to get you out of prison. And who knows what else you did…"

It was clearly a threat, and Peter was in no mood today. His trigger finger twitched. He so badly wanted to be done with this.

"Peter?"

His heartbeat accelerated rapidly. It was El, come to look for him, and Peter never liked it when she was close to guns, not even his own.

"Don't move!" he threatened Bennett before he dared to glance over his shoulder towards his wife. "El, stay back!"

Her eyes darted from her husband to Bennett and widened in shock when she recognized him. And then, in an unfortunately rather Neal-esque kind of way, she ignored Peter completely and not only came closer but walked right past him and towards Bennett.

"You! I invited you to my house for dinner and you let my husband go to prison for you!" El accused him, and Peter had to lower his gun because she had stepped right into his line of fire.

Bennett was too focused on El to notice. "I'm sorry. It was nothing personal."

"Nothing personal?" El repeated angrily. And then she closed her umbrella and started hitting Bennett over the head with it.

Both men were too stunned to react at first, even though Peter really wanted to laugh.

God, he loved that woman.

Then Bennett tried to grab El to defend himself, but with two giant steps Peter was there and punched Bennett in the face before he could lay a finger on his wife.

Bennett stumbled backwards with a bloody lip. He caught his balance, and suddenly he was the one pulling a gun on them. Peter had put his weapon away because he wouldn't shoot it with El standing so close to Bennett. All Peter could do now was to grab El and pull her behind him.

"I don't want to hurt you, not here, not over Neal's open grave," Bennett said, slowly backing away. "But I'm not going back to jail. I'm sure you can understand, Peter. Why don't we agree to live and let live?"

"Because you're a murderer, Bennett. And the FBI doesn't let murderers go free," Peter told him, fighting the urge to go after him because that would leave El exposed.

"Then we'll have to agree to disagree," Bennett said, taking another step back. "Don't follow me, Peter, or I can't guarantee your or your wife's safety."

Peter's nostrils flared when Bennett dared to threaten El, but he had to let him go. For now. As soon as it was clear that Bennett was making a run for it and not coming back, Peter turned around to face El.

"You okay?" he asked quickly, cupping her wet cheek. Without an umbrella, they were both getting soaked.

"Yes. Are you? Could he really prove that the confession was fake and get the case against you reopened?" El worried.

Peter shrugged. "Maybe. But he's still a murderer, and that's way more important. I can't let him go, hon."

"I know, but honey, don't go after him now. Not today. Please." A few strands of El's hair had come undone and now clung to her neck. She was wet and worried and terribly sad, and she needed him.

Peter nodded. "I'll call it in from the car and send a couple of agents after him."

He put an arm around El and they hurried back to the car. When they arrived at June's, the others were already waiting for them.

"You okay, boss? We heard about Bennett. Sorry we had already left, or we would have helped you take him down," Diana said while bouncing Theo on her hip. It was a little disorienting to see her as a mother but to hear her talk about chasing a criminal. Somehow she had managed to find a good balance between the two. Peter probably needed to talk to her again about how that worked exactly.

"We're fine, and I sent a couple of agents after him. He won't get far," Peter told her and Jones.

The three of them exchanged a look. They all wanted to be the ones out there catching Bennett. At the same time, each of them understood that now was not the time.

"Enough shoptalk. Come on in and sit!" June broke up their little gathering and linked arms with El to lead her over to the couch.

There was tons of food laid out on the dinner table, but no one was actually hungry, not even El, who should have been eating for two. None of them really knew what to say either.

"How was your flight?" El eventually began to make polite conversation with Sara.

"Yeah, sorry I was so late. It got delayed and… you know how it is," she said with a helpless shrug.

"Well, it was very nice of you to come, dear," June told her.

"Of course. I mean…" Sara paused, swallowing a lump in her throat. "I still can't believe he's dead. Are we sure he's really gone?" She looked at all of them, beseeching anyone to give her a different, a more bearable answer.

Sara's gaze landed on Mozzie, but he wouldn't say anything. He stood by himself again and looked like he wanted to leave but couldn't bring himself to – or didn't know where to go.

So Peter was the one who had to answer her. "He's gone," he said softly.

Thankfully, Sara didn't ask him to go into the details of how he had seen Neal's dead body with his own eyes. "And it was Keller?" she asked instead, some of her sadness replaced by anger. "How was that bastard not back in prison?"

"He made a deal with Interpol," Jones replied so Peter didn't have to.

"Well, that didn't work out for them, now did it?" Sara snapped.

"Actually, it did. They just wanted to stop the Pink Panthers, and now we have. They even risked the life of their own agent. I doubt they care all that much that Keller is dead now or that he killed Neal first," Jones said and then winced when he realized how harsh his words had been.

But it was the truth. "I should have killed that son of a bitch when I had the chance the first time," Peter muttered. Keller should have stopped breathing the minute he had harmed a hair on El's head. Or, better yet, before he had even thought of kidnapping her. That was also the truth.

"Hon," El said quietly, resting a hand on Peter's arm. Of course, it wasn't that easy. Nothing ever was. But that didn't stop Peter from wishing that he and Neal had never brought in Keller alive back then.

"At least, in a way, Neal's finally free now," Sara said.

"He would have been free either way after bringing down the Pink Panthers. He had an ironclad contact with the FBI," Peter told her bitterly. That's what made it so hard to accept. Neal had been so close.

Sara looked surprised. "Oh, did he say what he was planning to do once the FBI would have set him free?"

Perhaps she was hoping to hear that Neal had planned a trip to London, but Peter couldn't really help her with that. "With Neal, it's impossible to know for sure. But the doors at the FBI would have always been open for him."

"Really? Neal as an FBI agent? Can you imagine that?" Sara asked.

"No, I really can't," Diana was the first one to reply.

"Are FBI agents allowed to wear a fedora?" El wondered and made everyone laugh a little.

June sighed. "I guess I have to figure out what to do with all of his things now. He wore them so well. It was like having a young version of my Byron back in the house." She turned to look at Mozzie. "Do you want to keep anything, Mozzie?"

He gave a quick shake of his head. "You know me. I don't believe in being weighed down by too many earthly possessions."

"Unless it's money or priceless art," Diana pointed out.

"No comment," Mozzie replied swiftly.

"We are an odd bunch, aren't we?" June said thoughtfully. "I never thought I would entertain so many FBI agents in my house."

El smiled sadly. "Neal brought us together. The best of both worlds."

"Sometimes we could have done with a little less interference from his world," Jones said, pointing his thumb at Mozzie.

"Excuse me? As I recall, Neal and I saved your collective behinds on more than one occasion," Mozzie defended himself. "Including little Theo's."

"He wouldn't have needed your help if you hadn't made me climb down a manhole to find you," Diana countered.

Mozzie's eyebrows shot up. "I didn't make you do anything. Everybody knows that pregnant women aren't supposed to lift anything heavy. You hear that, Mrs. Suit? You better learn from her mistakes."

Before El could say anything, Peter leaned forward. "So you finally admit that it was Mozzie who helped you deliver Theo when you went after the Teddy Winters case, and you covered it up."

Diana and Mozzie exchanged a quick glance, both of them realizing that their grief had made them forget not to talk about that not so well kept secret. "Plausible deniability, boss," Diana said, shrugging her shoulders. "I figured you didn't actually want to go after the little guy over there."

He didn't. He hadn't then and he certainly didn't want to do so now.

"I would have to object to that description since for once I am in fact not the smallest guy in the room," Mozzie said, smiling ever so slightly at the toddler in Diana's lap.

"What about after today? Will we be seeing you?" Jones asked.

"At the FBI? Definitely not," Mozzie scoffed.

"How about as a friend?" El asked. "I'll need someone to stop me from lifting anything heavy when Peter's at work," she coaxed him.

Mozzie grimaced. "I hope you are aware of the irony that I am the one being accused of using illegal methods while you're the one resorting to blackmail," he said dramatically. "But also… nicely done, Mrs. Suit."

"So, I heard that right? You're pregnant?" Sara spoke up again.

El reached out to hold on to Peter's hand. "Yes."

"Oh, wow, congratulations! That's amazing!"

"Thank you, Sara."

"No, thank you. It's nice to know that there are still good things in this world that happen to good people. That's going to be one lucky kid," Sara said.

"That's what Neal said when I told him," Peter remembered, the memory catching him off guard. He had been so happy that day. He had felt like everything was finally going right – he and El were having a baby and Neal had his contract with the FBI that would set him on the right path.

El gently squeezed his hand and everyone fell quiet again. No matter what they talked about, nothing could make them forget that there was someone not in this room who should have been.

"Okay, now I think we all know that Neal wouldn't have wanted us to remember him like this," June said and stood. She returned with a probably rather expensive bottle of champagne. "Neal gave me this last Christmas. He said to use it for a special occasion. I think this qualifies." She poured them all a glass, with the exception of El, whom she handed a glass of orange juice. "I'm afraid you'll have to make do with this, my dear, but I promise you it'll be worth the wait."

"Thanks, June."

She raised her glass. "Now, to Neal, who made life exciting and adventurous and wonderful for all of us, be that as a colleague, a friend, a partner, or a son."

"To Neal!" They echoed and clinked glasses.

Not long after, Theo started to cry. "I'm sorry. He's getting fussy. I need to get him home," Diana said.

"Of course, I can drive you," Jones offered.

"After you've dropped off Diana, would you mind swinging by the office…?" Peter asked him quietly.

"… to check if we've caught Bennett yet? Was planning on it," Jones replied.

"Thanks, Jones," Peter said, and he meant it. Letting go of some of the day-to-day business at White Collar so he could be there for El and their child would be a lot easier, knowing that Jones and Diana had everything under control.

"What about you? How long are you staying in New York?" El asked Sara after Jones and Diana had left.

Sara shrugged, looking a little lost. "A few days? I had some vacation days left anyway. I'm not really sure yet."

"Well, if you're staying, you should come by the house for dinner," El invited her.

"Yeah?" Sara asked hopefully.

"Of course." El gave Peter a prompting look. Apparently, he was supposed to express his agreement as well.

"We'd love to have you," he said.

"Great, because I love picking baby names."

They hugged, and when Sara left, Mozzie tried to sneak out as well.

"Hey," El caught him. "Promise you won't be a stranger, Moz."

He just waved her off. "Don't worry. I have offered you my services as a doula, and I take that very seriously."

"Wait, what's a doula?" Peter asked, even though he had a feeling he wouldn't like the answer.

"See you around, El… Peter," Mozzie said, and he was out the door.

All that was left was to thank June, and then Peter and Elizabeth went home as well.

Satchmo greeted them enthusiastically, starving for love and attention… and dinner. Peter fed him in the kitchen while El sat at the kitchen island with her eyes closed.

"Honey, go to bed," Peter said when he saw that.

"Are you sure? It's still early. Did you want to make dinner or just sit for a while…?"

Peter walked up to her and rested a hand on her shoulder. "I want you – both of you – to get some sleep."

"All right." That El didn't even try to put up a fight was proof of how exhausted she really was. She pressed a soft kiss to his lips and then headed for the stairs. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?" she asked, turning around one more time.

"I'll be fine if you are," he promised her.

El smiled softly and went upstairs.

When she was gone, Peter stood in his living room, not sure what to do with himself. Sleep was not an option for him. He felt like there were too many things he should be doing but none he actually could do. He couldn't work on babyproofing the house without waking up El and he couldn't go back to work because... because he wasn't supposed to do that anymore. And even if he could have, he knew it wouldn't feel the same way. Not today. Maybe not for a long time.

All the more reason to focus on the baby. But the baby was fine. It had absolutely no use for him right now. Actually, no one needed him right now.

Satchmo was done eating and cocked his head at Peter.

Okay, maybe there was someone.

So he took his dog on a long evening walk. Unfortunately, that only gave him more time to think. When they got back to the house, Peter was done thinking. He grabbed the bottle of Bourbon that he rarely ever drank. But today seemed like the right day. He poured himself a glass and sat on the couch with Satchmo settling down at his feet. That helped. For a while.

Then his phone rang and Peter was quick to answer it. "Talk to me, Jones."

"He got away," Jones told him. It wasn't what Peter had wanted to hear. "We have an APB out, and all airports, bus and train stations are on alert, but as of right now, we don't know where Bennett is."

Like father, like son, Peter thought bitterly. He knew he should have headed up the search for Bennett himself. But he had also needed, wanted to be with his family. Of course, now he felt like he could have done more of a difference at work. None of that was Jones' fault, though. "Okay, thanks, Jones. Go home."

"We'll get him, Peter. We always do," Jones said.

"Yeah," Peter replied, but he felt empty at the prospect. "See you tomorrow."

He hung up the phone, and after a moment of taking it all in, he brought down his fist on the coffee table with such force that he knocked over the bottle of Bourbon. It rolled off the table and Satchmo gave a scared bark before running off.

Hitting the floor, the bottle broke, and so did Peter.

He dropped his head into his hands and allowed the sobs to break free from his chest. He wasn't proud of it, but he simply couldn't bear the weight anymore. It had been eating away at him all day. He had needed to be the strong one. For the team. For El. Even for Mozzie.

Because Neal was gone.

And now Peter had nothing left to give.

Soft hands wrapped around him and a wonderfully familiar scent engulfed Peter when El pulled him into her arms and he buried his face in the nook between her neck and shoulder. He wanted to pull himself together because he had promised her, promised her so many things, but above all to protect her, not to be this blubbering mess. But she felt so warm and so good and Peter never wanted to move again.

El patiently waited him out. She didn't say anything; she didn't move; she just held on. If she was crying, too, Peter couldn't see. The thought sobered him up a little. Enough to speak.

"I failed him, El," he rasped. It was the first time he had said that out loud to anyone.

Finally, El moved. She placed her hands on his cheeks and lifted his head so she could look at him. Her own cheeks were wet with tears but her voice was surprisingly steady.

"No, you didn't, hon. You got him out of prison and gave him a new chance at life. You risked your career for him multiple times; you even gave up going to Washington for him. You believed in him time and again, and you protected him as best as you could."

"Then why didn't I see coming what was going on with Keller?"

"Because, maybe, Neal was trying to protect you, too. With everything Keller had done to us already, I'm grateful he tried to keep you away," El said.

Peter shook his head. "But I could have saved him."

"Or you could have ended up right next to him," El cautioned.

He knew she was right and that he shouldn't have risked it because he had so much to lose. But so had Neal. And no matter what the risk, Peter couldn't stop wishing he had been there sooner.

"Honey, I wish you could have been there to save him, too, but that doesn't make it your fault. It's not anyone's fault, except Keller's. And if there is something Neal didn't tell you, then it was his choice. Because he knew what you've done for him and he loved you for it. I know he did," El said softly. "We were his family as much as he was a part of ours."

Hearing her say that made Peter's heart leap, only to be dragged down again in despair. "Then how did we lose him?"

That's where El's certainty faltered. "I don't know."

"I'm not sure if I can live with that answer," Peter said honestly.

"You can. And you will. Because Neal would want you to. And because he needs you." El had reached for his hand and placed it on her belly.

Peter spread his fingers, and through the thin fabric of his wife's nightgown he could feel the tiny bump that was starting to form there.

Proof that there was life still. A life that was only just beginning. Entirely dependent on them and brought into the midst of this tragedy through absolutely no fault of its own.

"What if I fail him?" Peter wondered. Because that was the most terrifying thought of them all.

"You couldn't. Because he knows that he is already so loved," El replied, resting her hand on top of Peter's.

And that, he decided, was an answer he could live with. The one thing that wouldn't go away even in grief, the love they shared between the two of them – now the three of them. Well, four, as soon as Satchmo recovered from the shock of Peter's little outburst and dared to join them again.

"I love you," Peter said simply, and Elizabeth smiled and leaned in for a kiss. "And I'm sorry about the mess."

"We should probably clean it up before Satchmo develops a taste for Bourbon in his old age," El replied. The Labrador had begun to sniff around the broken remains of the bottle of Bourbon. He didn't actually try to lick up the alcohol, but there was a real danger of him stepping on a piece of glass.

They stood up to pick up the biggest shards, but El sat right back down, closing her eyes and taking steady, deliberate breaths.

"Honey? Everything okay?" Peter asked worriedly, reaching out for her.

El gave a curt nod and put a hand on his arm to signal him that there was no need for alarm. After a couple more deep breaths, she managed to say, "Just a bout of morning sickness."

Peter's brow furrowed. "It's eleven o'clock at night."

"Tell that to your son," El replied.

Peter noticed that now that the baby was causing her discomfort, she suddenly referred to him as only 'his' son, but he decided not to comment. "What can I do?" he asked, rubbing her back.

"You could make us a sandwich," El suggested, confusing Peter.

"I thought you were feeling sick," he reminded her.

"Sick... and hungry."

Peter shook his head. "That makes no sense."

"Welcome to the wonderful, confusing world of pregnancy, hon," El laughed softly.

The sound was a little piece of normalcy in this whole mess, and it invigorated Peter somewhat. He cleaned up the mess he had made and then went into the kitchen. Making a sandwich wasn't much, but it was something to do, and it felt good.

"Okay, what would you like?" he asked.

"Anything, as long as there's no mayo on it."

Peter made a mental note that mayo had been added to the list of foods that were bad and inspected the fridge.

El had walked over to sit at the kitchen island. "If you're looking for deviled ham, I threw all of it out."

"Why? That's my kid in there. He might like it!" Peter pointed out, slightly affronted.

"Your kid, my taste buds – and my nose. If I even catch a whiff of that stuff... not that it was nice to smell before, but now I could start retching just thinking about it."

Peter narrowed his eyes at his wife. "Are you sure you're not just using the baby as an excuse?"

"Even if I were, you couldn't prove it," El replied cheekily.

"I'm ASAC of the FBI's New York White Collar division. I can prove anything," Peter said, closing the fridge and leaning against it with his arms crossed.

El rolled her eyes. "Come on, honey. Neal will thank me for it..."

They both paused when they realized her mistake.

El's shoulders slumped and her eyes filled with tears again. "God, I miss him."

"Me too," Peter said, his voice catching. He rounded the kitchen island, pressed a kiss to the top of El's head, and sat down next to her.

"I miss that smile when I opened the door to him standing on our doorstep. I miss all those crazy stunts he talked you into to solve your cases, even the ones I hated at the time, and I miss how he always listened to me when I was worried about you," El reminisced. "And to think that when he first came into our lives, you only called him James Bonds because we didn't even know his name."

Peter took her hand. "Sometimes I wonder if I should have never caught him. At least, he might still be alive."

"You don't know that," El said, shaking her head. "And he wouldn't have been the man he was, the man you helped him become." That thought seemed to make her remember something. "What happened with Neal's father?" she asked, suddenly alarmed.

"He got away," Peter told her, heaving a sigh.

El bit her lip. "Does it make me a bad person that I'm actually relieved that you didn't find him?"

Peter met her eyes in surprise, not sure what to say to that.

"I just can't take any more right now. Certainly not worrying about you being indicted or imprisoned again," she explained.

"Well, we'll keep looking for him. But he always knew how to go completely off the grid and we have a pretty bad track record when it comes to catching him, if that makes you feel any better," Peter said slowly.

"It does," Elizabeth admitted. "Even though it shouldn't, because he is a murderer and he let you go to prison. But I just want to let sleeping dogs lie and find a way to focus on the future, not the past. Even if that makes me a coward."

"Honey, it doesn't make you a coward. You have a right to feel whatever it is you're feeling. And your only job at the moment is the one you're doing right now." Peter nodded towards her stomach.

El followed his gaze. "In that case, I seem to remember that I was promised a sandwich."

Peter allowed a small smile to tuck at his lips. Even in this terrible mess, they would find a way forward. Together. They always had.

"Right. One sandwich with no mayo and no deviled ham, coming up."

A/N: I know this was a very sad chapter, but I feel it's important to show how Neal's 'death' affected everyone. I'd love to hear what you think, and I hope you're interested in coming along for the ride.