Dedicated to leonore 09! This is me trying to spread my wings! J

_

One moment, they were in the middle of an intense debate on whether or not deviled ham was any better than the prison sludge that Neal had been forced to ingest for three years and nine months.

Peter was pretending to be insulted, his face set in a frown, but his brown eyes sparkling in their amusement.

Elizabeth was backing Peter up of course, gently resting her hand on his shoulders, though she was giving Neal an exasperated nod that showed her agreement. Truth be told, El's stomach churned at the smell of the damned food for at least the first two years of her and Peter's marriage.

Neal was animatedly arguing his point.

Peter polished off his third beer as El stifled a yawn. It was growing late; the dinner/converse-about-the-case evening had grown into the depth of night, and all three had an early day ahead of them.

Neal slipped into his jacket as Elizabeth walked him to the door. She'd prepared a small doggy-bag for him to take home to June's.

The two were speaking in hushed tones, Elizabeth making it clear that prison food was probably much, much better than deviled ham, when they heard the scrape of a wooden chair against tile, almost as if it was being dragged.

Both turned their attention towards the now-echo. Peter was clenching onto the wooden backing of the chair, white knuckled, his face covered in a sheen layer of sweat. His eyes were fixed on the seat of the chair, and he was panting, using his other hand to loosen his tie.

"Hon?"
"Peter?"

Peter's eyes flickered up at them and then back to their previous spot as though the seat of the chair was the most fascinating thing in the world.

El turned on her heel and darted towards him, Neal on her tail and crossing the pathway in three long strides.

El placed a comforting hand on the small of her husband's back, feeling tremors.
"Hon, what's wrong?" Her voice was etched with concern, and then to Neal—"Neal, call 9-1-1."

"I'm fine, just need to sit down," Peter grimaced, trying to shake off whatever was wrong.
He looked over at Neal for some support… but all Neal saw were the whites of his eyes as Peter's eyes unsteadily sought Neal's blue ones.

Neal was already on the phone, rattling off directions for the ambulance. He noticed Peter looking a bit unsteady on his feet, and so when the operator offered to stay on the line, he declined.

Peter swayed a bit, and he was too heavy for El.

"Whoa, I've got you, I've got you," Neal spoke reassuringly, his eyes darting from Peter to El and then back to Peter as he slowly eased Peter into the chair, sinking to his knees to steady his friend.

Not wishing to alarm Peter (he could practically hear the frantic thumping of Peter's heartbeat), he raised himself up from his knees. Keeping one hand firmly on Peter's shoulder, he turned towards El.

"I think he's having a heart attack."