Peter can't draw his gaze from the red mess at the base of the stove. It seems fuzzy, distorted; everything does, like he's hearing, seeing through a fog that covers everything, everything but her name echoing in his mind, the intensity of it rising to a desperate scream.
Elizabeth… no, this can't be happening… Elizabeth, God, no…
"Peter?"
Neal's voice cuts through Peter's panic, dispelling the mist as Peter looks up. Neal's voice, his eyes, are filled with concern, and fear, and… and guilt… and Peter is across the room before he can think, releasing a breathtaking backhand blow that knocks Neal's head into the wall behind him. It's the force of that impact rather than Peter's fist that drops Neal to the floor, a single hand rising in instinctive defense as Peter grabs the collar of his shirt and shakes him.
"If anything happens to her," Peter hears his own voice hiss, though it sounds strangely other, not really his own at all. "If she's hurt, Neal… you will wish you'd never left that prison."
Neal's eyes are closed, lips parted in shallow breaths as he visibly struggles to keep some semblance of composure through the pain, through whatever emotions he's feeling that Peter can't bring himself to care about at the moment. Neal gasps out, words trembling and a little breathless, "I'll get her back, Peter. I promise. I won't let…"
Peter releases him so sharply that his head hits the wall again, and Neal bites back a cry of pain, looking up with anxious eyes as Peter backs off in disgust.
"You won't do anything," he snarls. "Just… get out of my sight."
Neal does get El back – or helps, at least. It turns out El barely needs rescuing at all. She's unharmed, just shaken, and Peter takes her home, holding her on the sofa and listening to her words or her silence as she needs him to, reassuring her that she's safe, no one's going to hurt her, he'll never let anyone touch her again. It's only as they're finally settling into bed, El silent and still in his arms, her breath slowly evening out as sleep takes her, that Peter finally remembers – the vicious words born of terror, the blow he struck in helpless anger.
The terrible line he crossed.
No one expects Peter to go to work the next day. He thinks about calling Neal; he wishes that Neal would call.
Neither happens.
Peter talks to Elizabeth, instead. She just listens, watching him with solemn eyes that comprehend both motives and consequences, while neither condoning nor condemning his actions.
"It'd be bad enough if he was just my CI," Peter sighs, staring miserably down at his untouched coffee. El snuggles deeper into her soft bathrobe and takes a slow sip of her own. "It'd still be – an abuse of my authority. There's going to be fallout. I still have to decide how to deal with this in an official sense, to – to keep him out of prison."
"But he's not just your CI," El concludes quietly. She hesitates before softly clarifying, "He's… not just yours."
Peter looks up, abruptly feeling the weight of his mistake, not only on his own shoulders, but on hers as well. El might lose out here, too, if Neal doesn't forgive Peter's actions.
"He hasn't called, or… or anything. He probably doesn't want anything to do with me."
"Or maybe, he thinks you don't want anything to do with him."
Peter frowns, looking up at El, who's watching him speculatively. "No. I'm the one that screwed this up. Screwed us up. I was just so scared, and sure it was his fault, and… now, I don't think so. I mean, from what he told me while we were trying to find you, if anyone's to blame it's… Mozzie, maybe. Keller, definitely. But, Neal…" Peter shakes his head, looking away with a heavy sigh. "… he made a mistake. He didn't know what would happen, and he sure as hell didn't deserve to get the crap smacked out of him for it like I…" Peter's voice drops off, his chest tightening around the weight that settled there as soon as he slowed down enough to think. "He made a mistake," he repeats finally. "It's not unforgiveable."
El is quiet, considering. She takes another sip, swallowing slowly before speaking in a quiet, gently leading tone.
"Have you made sure he knows that?"
Peter swallows hard, feeling an inexplicable sense of panic as El picks up his phone from the table and holds it out. He eyes it as if it might bite, meeting her eyes with dread.
"What if mine is?" he whispers.
She frowns slightly, shaking her head in confusion.
"Unforgiveable," Peter clarifies hoarsely. "What if… I can't ever… if he won't…"
She presses the phone into his hand and gets up, coming around to gently kiss his brow and running a soothing hand through his hair.
"You won't know until you make the call."
Peter stares at the phone for what feels like forever. He's not sure he can do this. He's not sure it'll matter if he does; but he's not sure he can live with himself if he doesn't.
He is sure he can't live without Neal in his life.
Swallowing hard, mouth dry and heart racing, Peter dials the familiar number… and listens as it rings.