Right, sorry about the last story everybody. Something just...didn't set right with me on that one, so, hopefully, this can make up for it. Please, read and review. I'd love to hear from you! :)

Peter-

Peter had laying in bed, unable to sleep. He and Neal had been working on a case about an art thief named James Corly. James Corly also happened to be someone who used to be in New York's Mafia, and he had been on the FBI's radar for a long time. He had taken up art thieving a few years back, but the FBI had never been able to catch up to him in time.

Peter hoped that now that he and Neal were working the case, they'd catch the guy. He had killed many people, and he had been on the streets for far too long, in Peter's opinion. Of course, Neal had not been too enthused about going after someone who had been in the Mafia...but Peter thought there was another reason why Neal didn't like the case.

Some darker reason. Some reason that Neal had no wish to share, maybe it was too dark. Maybe he didn't want Peter involved, but either way, Peter was sure there was another reason Neal didn't want to work the case. Of course...he had no say in the matter, as they had already been assigned the case.

Sorry Neal... He thought grimly, sitting up, brown eyes troubled. Why did Neal not like the case? No...that wasn't true. Neal had been happy to work the case, to not look at case files, until he had heard the name James Corly. So the better question was, why did Neal not like James Corly? How did he know him? Why? How? How? Why? Those were questions that Peter couldn't answer. Not without Neal, as Neal would have to tell him the answers.

Peter sighed, and after rubbing the back of his head for a moment, he got up and walked downstairs. He glanced at the clock for the first time, and blinked as he realized it was only 2:30 in the morning.

Ugh...I need some coffee. He thought, glaring at the kitchen door. He needed coffee, but he wasn't going to make any. Too complicated for him, especially this early in the morning. Peter sighed, and stood there for a moment, eyes closed until a loud BANG sounded. Dark brown eyes snapped open in time to see his door splinter and break from the impact of hitting a wall.

The FBI Agent's eyes widened as darted to the side as he was rushed by a man wielding some long blade. A machete? The machete sank into the wall behind Peter, and the man ripped it across the wall to free it. Peter barely glanced at the gash in the wall as he picked up one of the dining room table's chairs and spun around, slamming it across the attacker's back. The chair shattered from impact, causing Peter to stare in dismay at the broken wood that remained in his hands. Instantly, he dropped the now useless wood and began to retreat to the stairs, his gaze fixed on the fallen man.

He didn't notice another man waiting for him at the base of the stairs. He didn't notice him until he felt a needle plunge into the side of his neck, and something being injected into his system. Almost instantly, Peter's vision started to grow fuzzy, but he turned around and slammed his fist into his other attackers guy staggered backwards, and Peter started up the stairs.

"El!" He yelled, making it halfway up the stairs before he stumbled and hit the ground, his head striking another stair step. A faint ringing sound in his head began, but Peter hauled himself to his feet and kept going, doing his best to navigate around the house, despite his vision messing up. "El?" He cried out, after hearing no answer from his wife. He burst into his room to see Elizabeth gagged in the corner, and her wrists bound by thick rawhide cords. Peter's brown eyes narrowed as he started towards his wife, not seeing another man waiting in the shadows.

So obviously, he didn't see the man stick his foot out, and he didn't realize that he had been tripped until just seconds before his head slammed into the nightstand next to his bed, and as the world was growing dim, Peter heard the man speak, his voice cold. He stiffened slightly, knowing exactly who it was. James Corly.

"Let's see how long it takes for your pet con to join us, shall we Agent Burke?"

NO! Peter screamed mentally. He didn't want Neal dragged into this, didn't want Neal hurt. And then everything went black.

Neal-

Neal rubbed his eyes tiredly as he sat in back of a taxi-cab. He was going to Peter's, as he had received an urgent text message from his friend. The con stifled a yawn, blue gaze flickering to squint out the dirty window next to him. It was early...really early in the morning, and given the choice, Neal would rather be asleep in his room.

But Peter had demanded Neal come over, and although reluctant, Neal had obliged. He gave a small sigh as the cab pulled up in front of Peter's house, and the con handed the cab driver the appropriate amount of money before he stepped out and watched as the cab drove off, soon the bright yellow taxi colors being swallowed up by a dense gray fog.

Neal shivered, and watched as his breath rose in front of his face in a swirling white mist. It was unnaturally cold this morning, and as Neal turned to look at Peter's house, he felt a pang of uneasiness strike him in the chest, but the con shook off the feeling. This was Peter's after all, what was the worst that could happen?

Neal walked up to the front door, and stared in shock as he saw that is was broken and hanging inwards, just barely connected by its metal hinges. His eyes widened in fear as he shot forward, no thoughts about the fact that there might be danger inside, or that he should call the FBI to report this. He just wanted to see if Peter and Elizabeth were okay.

"Peter? El?" He called, managing to keep his voice calm as he looked around the house. He felt like he had just walked into a horror movie. Pictures were either tilted at odd angles on the walls, or laying on the ground, the glass shattered. As Neal entered further into the house, more damage came, as one of the dining room chairs was shattered, and splinters of wood laying scattered of the floor. One wall looked like someone had had a little too much fun with a knife, as a long and deep scratch ripped across its surface.

Though there was no sign of Peter or Elizabeth. Neal swallowed, before rushing to and up the stairs.

"Peter? Elizabeth? Are you in here?" Neal called, before rushing into their bedroom. His eyes widened in total horror and fear as he saw Peter laying on the ground, unconscious on his stomach. Neal rushed over, and flipped his friend over, one hand moving over Peter's mouth, to check to see if his friend was breathing. He was, thank God... Neal looked up, his eyes searching for Elizabeth, and there she was! Tucked into a dark corner of the room, bound and gagged. Neal got to his feet and started for her, but then saw her eyes widen and her start shaking her head at him.

The next thing he knew was an explosion of pain at the base of his skull, and darkness engulfing him.