Jump.
"Never do that again," Peter snapped at Neal. They were both gasping for breath as they waited for their backup to pick them up; Neal sank to the ground, shaking slightly, and bowed his head as he tried to slow his breathing. Peter put his hands on his knees and glowered at the con man he had for a partner. "What the hell were you thinking, Caffrey?" he demanded.
Neal's shoulders hunched at his partner's tone. "I was thinking that I should probably get out of there fast," he said. "What with guns being drawn 'n' all that."
"And the roof was your best bet?" Peter was aghast. "You could have gotten killed!"
"Peter, I—"
"I don't want to have to peel you off the sidewalk, Neal!"
"Peter—"
"Last thing I need is a Neal Caffrey pancake—"
"Peter!"
Peter held up his hands defensively, and Neal looked up at Peter in exasperation. "I appreciate your concern, but you can stop shouting." Caffrey looked back at his hands; his palms had almost no skin left on them and were stinging agonizingly. His annoyance at the FBI agent had dulled the pain for a while, but now he realized how badly they hurt. He sighed and glanced at Agent Burke. "I suppose this isn't a good time to tell you that that's nowhere near the farthest I've jumped."
Peter smacked Neal upside the head. "Damn right it isn't."