Hey everybody! I'm back with another White Collar fic. I hope you like it, it's the first time I've tried writing a story like this. I usually try to write stories with a bit more action, but I thought I would try this out. Also, as with most of my stories, this fic is inspired by a song. I was listening to my iPod at work one day and the song When All is Said and Done by Tyrone Wells came on. This just popped into my head. . I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it (since it took me forever to finish ^_^). I never really say this but no flames please. Only constructive criticism.

Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar.

Warnings: Angst and everything implied in the song by Tyrone Wells, When All is Said and Done.

"We cannot be sure of having something to live for unless we are willing to die for it."

~Che Guavara

He sat by the hospital bed, his hand ever holding the one of the man lying unconscious in its white embrace. It had been six months since he rode with his friend, bleeding and broken, in the back of that ambulance, and now he had to make a call. It was without contest the hardest thing he would ever have to do, so he held tighter onto the man's cold fingers and wished he would wake up and take this burden from him.

"Why did you do this to me?" he asked angrily, his eyes filled with tears as he squeezed the appendage harder. "This shouldn't be my decision to make!"

He knew the anger he felt was not because of the man before him, but because he was afraid of what he was being asked to do. Because of a stupid piece of paper, he was now forced to make a life or death decision. He had been trying for the past six months to not think about the events that had lead to this day, but the stress of the situation and the exhaustion from the last few days forced him to remember every gruesome detail.

"Peter, you know how much I hate mortgage fraud," Neal said testily as the pair exited the elevator and began walking through the parking garage toward the Taurus.

"Well you're just going to have to learn to like them," said Peter in return, a little annoyed at the con's attitude today. He had been moody all morning. "Mortgage fraud is the bread and butter of the white collar division, so cowboy up because you have at least two more years of these cases."

"Whatever," huffed Neal as Peter pulled the Taurus out onto the busy New York streets.

Peter reminded himself to count to ten before reacting to the forger's mood. He had been through a lot since Mozzie died four months ago. Neal had been the one to find the small man and, unfortunately, it had taken Peter and the FBI twenty minutes to find them. Neal had performed CPR on his friend for just as long, but the small conspiracy theorist was already dead. The EMTs pronounced it on the scene. Neal wasn't the same after that, much of his child-like attitude dying with his friend.

"What's up with you today?" asked Peter, a little of his anger seeping into his voice. "At least you're not sitting at your desk reading files all day."

"Nothing," said Neal automatically, "I'm fine."

Peter glared at the conman for a moment before remembering someone had stopped by the white collar office this morning. "Cruz talk to you this morning?" he asked, noticing Neal shift in his seat. It was only a slight movement, one anyone else would have missed it, but Peter knew Neal better than anyone. He knew this was a telltale sign that he had hit the mark. "What did she say to you?"

"It's nothing, Peter. Really," he said sadly.

"It obviously upset you," he said. "Come on, what did she say?"

"You know how I used my past working relationship with Karlsburg to help you catch him a few weeks ago?" asked Neal almost nervously.

"The art fence we caught? Yeah."

"Well, when she passed by my desk this morning she mentioned it," he said angrily as he remembered the interaction. "She told me she had heard that I had turned in one of my old teammates and asked if I had any loyalty. She said she should warn you in case I decided to give you up to for something to save my own skin."

Now he got it. Cruz had used Peter to get under Neal's skin. Ever since the whole Mozzie situation, Neal had been very protective of the people he had left in his life. "That was why she was smiling so wide when she passed by my office," he said more to himself than Neal. The agent pulled into a parking spot in front of their destination and turned to look at his partner. "Neal, look at me." The con turned but his eyes remained on the center console between the two men. "No, Neal, look at me," he reiterated. The forger's blue eyes pulled up and looked at the Fed's face. "You are not disloyal," he said slowly, "and even Cruz knows that. Karlsburg had killed three people to fence those paintings so that he could have all of the profit. You had no choice but to use the tools you had to bring him in and you actually let me know what you were doing before you did it this time," he joked. "So it doesn't matter what Cruz says because in the end, I'm proud of you."

Neal looked up and smiled at the agent, his partner. "Thanks, Peter. I really needed to hear that."

"And as for that loyalty business she was talking about, don't worry about that either," he said putting his hand on the con's shoulder. "You told me once that I was the only person in your life that you trusted. Well, I just want you to know that I trust you, too. You might push it too far once in a while, but I know that you always have my back in your own dysfunctional way. I know you would never do anything to intentionally get me in too much trouble." He had said the last part as a joke, but he also wanted Neal to know that everything he said was true. It was surprising to him as well, but despite all of the stupid stunts Neal had pulled throughout their partnership, Peter trusted Neal completely.

"Peter…" said Neal.

"Now, let's go tell Mr. Westler that he is suspected of mortgage fraud," said Peter ending their heart to heart. It was time to work. Peter opened his door but noticed that Neal had not. "Come on, Neal, not everyone waits until the Feds are at their door to run like you do," he smiled.

Neal smiled and opened his door, climbing out of the Taurus. "That was one time, Peter," he said cheerfully, the suave smile returning to his charming face, "and I would just like to point out that jumping out of that window into the river was a terrible idea. Dislocated my shoulder on impact."

"Well that just shows you that you shouldn't run," he said, returning a playful smile. "Now hurry up, slowpoke." With that he started to walk across the street.

"PETER!" yelled Neal as the roar of an engine filled Peter's ears, nearing the other side of the road. He turned to see a large Lincoln barreling down the street, obviously having no intention of slowing down as it approached him. Peter wanted to move, but the sight had caused his legs to freeze. Just as the large vehicle neared him, Peter felt something slam into his side, sending him flying between the two cars parked next to the curb.

He hit the street and heard the horrible sound of metal on metal as the vehicle slammed into the cars he had just been thrown through. The force pushed the front car a few feet down the road and stopped the town car. Peter watched as the driver and his passenger exited the vehicle and began running down the middle of the street, cars honking at the congestion caused by the abandoned vehicle.

Peter was about to chase after them when a thought crossed his mind. Neal. Where was Neal? "NEAL!" Peter yelled, his head pounding from the noise after his impact with the cement. He pulled himself to his feet, legs shaking from adrenaline as he stumbled back to the street. "NEAL!" he called once more, but again there was no response as spectators began to exit the surrounding buildings and cars to investigate.

Peter's heart was racing as he used one of the vehicles to steady himself and searched the street. He looked around the carnage of the accident, praying that he wouldn't find him under the offending Lincoln. "NEAL!" he yelled once more, wishing that the young con would answer and let him know that he was alright. He looked down the street and Peter felt his heart stop. His breath hitched as he took in the sight because he knew the young forger would not be calling back to him.

Peter's eyes were pulled down the street by a smear of blood that spread two feet down the pavement to where the well dressed conman lay motionless on his side in the middle of the street, his usually pristine clothing ripped and torn. His mind finally snapped to reality and Peter found a new sense of balance, allowing him to run down the street and fall to his knees by his partner.

Peter hesitated to touch the man as he assessed Neal's injuries, feeling sick at the damage he saw. Neal was bleeding heavily from a gash in his head, hidden somewhere beneath his blood soaked hair, as well as from his obviously broken nose. His right leg was sitting at a strange angle, as was his left arm, indicating that both of the appendages were broken. The forger's right shoulder sat too low due to a dislocation and his jaw seemed to be too open, most likely broken as well.

Peter felt his mind click to agent mode as one of the spectators approached. He looked up at the frightened man and began giving orders. "Call 911," he said urgently while still attempting to stay calm. "Tell them there was a hit and run. Tell then there is a federal agent down."

Then man's eyes grew wide at Peter's instructions as he automatically pulled out his phone and dialed emergency services, conveying the information. Peter turned back to Neal and continued assessing his partner. The con's eyes were closed so Peter knew that he was most likely still alive, otherwise his eyes would be open and unfocused. Nonetheless, he had to be sure and felt for a pulse. He released a relieved breath at the slow, weak heartbeat under his fingers. He knew that Neal was still very much in danger, but knowing that there was still a slight chance. He carefully rolled Neal onto his back, very aware of the fact that the forger could have significant neck or spine injuries.

"Alright, Neal," said Peter as calmly as he could, taken aback by the amount of blood that was now on his hands, "you're going to be alright. I just need you to wake up for me, okay? Come on, time to cowboy up." He looked at the forger's chest and saw that only one side seemed to be inflating. Shit, punctured lung, thought Peter, knowing that every second that passed could be his friend's last.

Peter found a wound in Neal's abdomen and promptly removed his jacket to put pressure on it, careful of the broken ribs. "Why would you do that, Neal?" said Peter, his emotions all over the place as his mind already trying to cope to the situation. "Of all the stupid things you've ever done… Please, Neal, wake up."

There was no response from the young man as the horrified sounds of the onlookers and the blare of sirens filled the air around the FBI agent. Peter suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder as the EMT's pulled him away from his friends and began tending to the injured art thief. Peter suddenly realized he was no longer near his partner, his partner who could die any minute, and began struggling with the people pulling him away.

"Sir, there is nothing you can do for him now," said the deep voice of one of the police officers holding him. "The best thing you can do for him is let the professionals do their job." Peter ceased his struggles. He knew they were right, but what if Neal died? He didn't want him to be surrounded by strangers if this was it. "Just take a seat and one of the paramedics will come over as soon as they can to check on you. Looks like you hit your head pretty hard."

It was then that Peter noticed that he was bleeding. In his concern for Neal, Peter had never checked himself out to see that his fall had left a gash on his forehead as well. "He saved my life," Peter told the officer who instantly pulled out his notebook to write what Peter was saying. "We were about to head inside to talk to someone of interest in our investigation when the Lincoln over there came racing down the street. It was aiming for me. Neal must have pushed me out of the way and…" He trailed off trying not to think of the severity of the situation his friend was in and the injuries he had seen.

"Can you describe the suspects to me?" asked the officer, obviously wary about asking Peter these questions in his current state.

"Both were white males, probably in their late thirties or early forties. One was lean built and a little taller, maybe over six feet with blonde hair, and the other was probably around 200 pounds, around five-five with dark brown hair and a Fu Manchu mustache. They took off running north."

"Alright, we'll get a BOLO out with that description. I'm sorry, I didn't ask this earlier. What is your name?"

"Agent Peter Burke," said Peter as he noticed an EMT approaching him. "I work with the FBI in the white collar unit."

"Okay, I'll have my sergeant get in touch with your superior and let him know what happened. What's the name of your partner?"

"Neal, Neal Caffrey."

The officer gave him a nod and headed to his police cruiser as the EMT began assessing the Federal agent. "How are you feeling, Agent Burke?" he asked passing a flashlight in front of his eyes. "Any dizziness? Nausea?"

"No, I'm fine," said Peter. "How is my partner?"

"We're going to need to get him to a hospital as soon as possible. How is the pain?"

"Tolerable," said Peter, becoming irritated at the responder's nonchalant voice as he spoke of Peter's possibly dying partner. "I want to ride to the hospital with him."

"I'm sorry, sir. We have a strict 'Essential personnel only' policy when it comes to the ambulance. People seem to watch too many TV shows and think that they can just ride in the ambulance with the injured. I can't let you ride with your partner."

"Bull," said Peter, pulling away from the EMT and beginning to walk back to where the other responders continued to work on the con artist.

"Ok, we got him back," called one of the emergency responders. "Let's get him in the bus and get him to the hospital!"

Peter raced forward as the stretcher was lifted from the ground and approached the individual who appeared to be in charge. "Excuse me? My name is Agent Peter Burke. Please, that man is my partner; I need to ride to the hospital with him."

"I'm sorry, Agent, we have a strict policy that only allows necessary personnel to ride in the ambulance," he said mechanically. It really bothered Peter how calm all of these EMTs were. He knew it was part of their job, to appear calm though inside their minds and hearts were racing, but he couldn't help but wish that someone appeared as concerned for Neal as he felt. "You and his family will have to meet us at the hospital."

"You don't understand," said Peter. "I'm all the family he's got left. Please…"

Peter saw the empathy pass through the man's eyes as he looked at the ambulance and back to him. "I can't believe I'm doing this. Fine, you can ride in the bus, but you will do everything I tell you without question. If I pull the ambulance over and tell you to get out because it's too crowded, you will do so without question. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," said Peter as the two men began racing toward the emergency vehicle.

Peter remembered how terrifying the ambulance ride had been. The con man had gone into V fib once on the way to the hospital which had almost caused Peter's heart to stutter as well. He had held onto Neal's hand as much as he could without interfering with the work of the paramedics, never ceasing to speak encouraging words to his friend.

Neal, however, never regained consciousness during the ride, despite Peter's pleas to squeeze his hand or open his eyes.

The ambulance arrived at the hospital and the back doors of the bus flew open. "Agent Burke, I am going to need you to let go of Mr. Caffrey now. We'll take good care of him."

Peter reluctantly let go of his friend's hand with a nod to the EMT, wanting nothing more than to follow him through the doors of the emergency room but knowing he would do nothing but get in the way. It was all up to God and Caffrey now as the gurney disappeared through the swinging doors, the yelling of medical personnel resonating in its wake.

Peter could do nothing but stare at the doors that had swallowed Neal, an eerie silence filling his ears despite the fact that he was standing in the middle of a congested waiting room. After a few moments, he walked to a seat and sat down in a daze. The adrenaline ebbed out of his body as exhaustion flowed in quickly followed by a painful pounding in his head.

"Excuse me, sir, are you alright?" came a soft female voice. The tone was calm yet slightly tinged with worry.

Peter looked up to see a dark haired nurse looking back at him, her eyes flicking to his hands every few seconds. "Yeah, I'm waiting for my friend."

"Have you been looked at yet?" she asked again, seeming to paying a great deal of attention to his eyes.

Most likely checking my pupils to see if I have a concussion, thought Peter. "The paramedics took a look at me at the scene. I'm waiting to hear about my friend. He just came in."

Sympathy filled her eyes at his words. "You should really be looked at, sir. Is that your blood on your hands?"

"No," said Peter lifting his hands into his eyesight, stopping short at what he saw. His hands were covered by so much blood it looked like they had been dipped in paint.

"Sir, wait right here. I'm going to get someone to take a look at you." The nurse quickly walked away, leaving Peter to stair in horror at his hands, before quickly returning with a doctor. The pair helped the agent to his feet and brought him back to an examination room. The checkup passed in a blur as the doctor stitched his head and he was brought to a room to wash off the blood. Soon he was returning to the waiting room to wait for word on Neal only to find Hughes pacing back and forth.

"Peter," he said once he noticed the other agent, "are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he said finally coming out of his trance. "Any word on Neal?"

"He's was brought into surgery to fix a punctured lung about two hours ago, but I haven't heard much else."

Peter was taken aback. He hadn't even realized how much time had passed. "And the guys who did this?"

"NYPD caught one of them a mile away from the scene. His name is Carlos Enal. He isn't giving up his partner as of yet, but he did tell us he was working for Rinaldo."

"Rinaldo? The smuggler?"

"That's the one?"

"But why now?"

"The verdict for his trial came through two days ago. Because of your testimony about the murder involved he got 10 years in Sing Sing. He hired those men to get his revenge."

"But why? Neal didn't have anything to do with this."

Hughes looked sadly at his friend. "Enal said that he and his partner were told you would be alone."

"But then why did they hit Neal?"

"Peter, Enal said Caffrey pushed you out of the way. Neal wasn't even part of the equation. They panicked and ran when they hit him."

Peter couldn't respond. In the back of his mind, he knew Neal had saved his life, but knowing that Neal could have been spared killed him. He sank into the chair, his eyes returning to his hands where they invisible blood still stained his hands and realized that this was all his fault.

Over the next few hours, June and El arrived at the hospital and waited with Peter and Hughes for word on the con man. There was little talk between the individuals, and soft sobs could be heard from June as El tried to pull Peter out of his guilt to no avail.

"Party here for Agent Caffrey?" called a doctor causing all of the individuals there to stand and rush over. Peter couldn't help but think of the mischievous smile that would have spread across Neal's face if he heard the doctor calling him agent. "Are one of you Peter Burke?" he asked.

"That's me, and this is Neal's superior, Agent Hughes," said Peter as Hughes shook the doctor's hand.

"I'm Dr. Aaron Pierce. Please come with me," said the doctor after explaining that June and El could not come back due to the circumstances. The doctor continued after bringing Hughes and Peter to an examination room. "I am sorry to come with this news, but Agent Caffrey is in bad shape," he said placing several x-rays onto a light up board. "He has suffered several injuries. We were able to repair many of them during the surgery, but several of his broken bones will require pins and plates which I was not willing to risk completing now. His wrist will heal on its own as will his broken ribs, but his tibia and radius breaks will require pins. His nose will heal nicely over time but the break on his clavicle will require a plate. We were able to put his shoulder back into place. We were able to stop the internal bleeding, fix his punctured lung, and stitch up his lacerations during surgery."

"So he's going to be ok," said Burke, but it sounded more like an unsure question than a statement.

The doctor shook his head as his eyes met the floor, unable to look at the two agents. "Unfortunately, the impact with the pavement cause several sever injuries to Agent Caffrey. The skin on his back was grated when he hit, think of it as road rash times ten, which caused intense bleeding and will lead to some nasty scarring. The impact also caused a fracture of the lumbar vertebra. We won't be sure of the severity of this injury, which may include paraplegia, until he wakes up."

"Will he wake up soon?" asked Hughes.

"Unfortunately, no," said the doctor again as he looked up sadly. "The worst injury that Agent Caffrey received was to his head. The impact of the collision followed immediately by the impact with the ground caused him to suffer a large grade concussion. When he arrived, his brain was swelling dangerously. We had to drill a hole in his skull to relieve some of the pressure, but the swelling still refused to go down." Dr. Pierce paused for a moment.

"Please, doctor, just tell us how he is," said Peter.

"Not good, Agent Burke," he said solemnly. "Due to the severity of his injuries and the tremendous swelling in his brain, we had no choice but to place Agent Caffrey in a chemically induced coma. It will help his body recover and hopefully reduce the amount of pain he will feel."

"A…a coma? Neal's in a coma?" said Peter as he slowly sat in one of the chairs in the room.

"I'm afraid so," said Dr. Pierce.

Peter was speechless. How could this get any worse?

"What are his chances, doctor?" asked Hughes. "What are we looking at here?"

"To be honest not good," said Dr. Pierce, unable to look at Peter as he processed the situation. "If we can get the swelling in his brain to go down, his chances will go up exponentially, but I need you to understand that most individuals with the injuries that Agent Caffrey…"

"Neal," interrupted Peter. "His name is Neal."

Dr. Pierce gave Peter a sympathetic look before continuing. "Most individuals that arrive at my hospital with the injuries Neal is presenting are already dead. He is a lucky man to even be alive."

Peter let out a shaky sigh. It was a small chance, but a chance nonetheless. "Ok, so once the swelling goes down, then what?" asked Peter.

Dr. Pierce allowed a sad smile to spread across his face. Hope and optimism were a rare gift in his department. "If we can get the swelling down and out of the danger zone, we can try and pull him out of the chemical coma and assess the damage to his body further."

"TRY and pull him out?"

"Agent Burke, there is always a chance that individuals in comatose will not wake up."

"Ok," said Hughes, seeing the anger welling in Peter's face. "If he pulls through and wakes up, what could happen? What should we prepare for?"

"In the best scenario, he could wake up and make a full recovery. He will have some scarring and probably have some pain in parts of his body for a while, but recover nonetheless. Other possibilities are reduced function of his broken appendages and dislocations, paralysis of his lower extremities, brain damage due to the swelling or even vegetative state."

"So Caffrey could be brain dead or paralyzed," said Hughes.

"Yes, but we can try and run some tests for those while he is still in his coma. We wouldn't know for sure until he wakes but we would have an idea of what to expect."

"Ok, anything else?" asked Hughes.

Dr. Pierce let out a long sigh, and looked at Agent Burke, knowing he was the one he needed to prepare based on the agents' reactions to the news. "I am not going to sugar coat what is happening with Neal. His chances are low. Like I said, most individuals with these injuries are DOA. I want you all to prepare for the worst. Neal could go at any time."

Peter felt a lump form in his throat and tears begin to form in his eyes at the doctors words. This day couldn't get any more difficult.

"There is one more thing that I need to discuss with you as well, Agent Burke," said the doctor apologetically. "I know you don't need anything else on your plate right now, all of this is very hard to digest. However, I need to ask you if Neal has ever mentioned to you that he has given you his power of attorney?"

Peter's head shot up faster than he ever thought possible. He had to have misunderstood, right? "Excuse me?" he asked a little more harshly than he had intended.

"I'll take that as a no," said the doctor, pinching the bridge of his nose. This case was getting more and more difficult as it went. "We have a signed document in Neal's file that grants you his power of attorney. From now on, Agent Burke, you will be asked to make any medical decisions on Agent Caffrey's behalf. I don't know how he was able to complete the process without telling you."

"He used to be a con artist," stated Hughes. "If anyone can get around the logistics of anything, it's that man."

Peter had to smile at that. Caffrey definitely was the man for the job if there were legal documents involved…or anything that needed to be circumnavigated for that manner. "What do I have to do, Doctor?"

"Nothing for right now," said Pierce. "If there is anything we need we will contact you, otherwise we have a protocol to follow for Neal. If the swelling doesn't start coming down in a few days, we will have to try more drastic measures, such as lowering his body temperature, but we will cross that bridge when if we get there."

"So for now, we just wait?" asked Hughes.

"You just wait."

"Can we see him?" asked Peter, dreading seeing Neal attached to all of the machines he would need for life support but needing to see that his friend alive for himself.

Dr. Pierce gave Peter a sad smile. "Of course, he's in ICU 415."

Peter had been correct. Seeing Neal connected to all of the life support machinery was one of the most horrifying things he had ever seen. The worse, of course, being seeing him on the accident scene. El had gone with him and had been his pillar of support since that tragic day.

Ever since then, it had been a routine for Peter and El to come visit Neal on the week days after Peter was done with work and on Saturday mornings. They would simply walk in, sit by his side and talk with the comatose man until they left to continue their lives.

That is until the pair had arrived this Saturday morning.

This morning, the doctor met him at the door with horrible news. It was appearing as though Neal's condition was starting to deteriorate. His heart beat had been slowly declining for the past week, his brain was beginning to swell for the third time since the accident, and his vital signs were becoming weaker and weaker. Then, as if the news couldn't get any worse, the doctor dropped a bomb on him. Neal wasn't getting any better and Peter was finally asked to make the decision.

Did the family want to pull the plug?

Peter had prepared himself for this day but he had desperately wished it would never come. Dr. Pierce had explained the desperate situation and his plan for their last ditch effort to save the con's life. After their talk, Peter went into Neal's room to think for a while and he had been in there ever since, just holding the forger's hand and weighing his options.

"What do I do, Caffrey?" he asked the unconscious man to only be answered by the resonating beep of the heart monitor that the agent noticed was slightly slower than yesterday, true to the doctor's words. "I don't want to do this. Why do you always leave the hard decisions to me?" he asked, a slight joke in his voice.

Once again, there was no reply from the young con, but Peter had long since stopped expecting a response or for him to miraculously wake up from his words. This wasn't TV, this wasn't a story in which good always prevails; this was real life and sometimes real life sucked. He never gave up hope that Neal would wake up one day; he just stopped expecting it to happen.

It was that thought that truly depressed him. It was if his hope was slowly dwindling.

Peter just looked at his partner for a moment, taking in what was left of the once great Neal Caffrey. The cuts and bruises that had riddled his face and arms just a few months ago had long since healed leaving slightly paler skin in their stead. The con had gotten a little thinner due to the muscle loss from lying motionless in a bed for six months and a little paler from being hidden from the sun. The doctor had said, physically, Neal was as healed as he was going to get, he was just refusing to wake up for some reason.

"You know, when I first agreed to let you out of prison to work for the FBI, I thought you were going to be the biggest pain in my ass for the next four years. Either that, or you were going to royally mess up and I was going to be sending you to Rikers for good. I didn't know what Hughes was thinking when he agreed to your little scam, but now... Now I'm glad that we did. I didn't just get a great partner out of the deal, I got a great friend, I got a member of my family. Neal, I know you and I don't always see eye to eye, and the crap you pull some days makes me want to throw you right back in that rat hole we took you from, but I don't ever regret making that decision. I want you to know that no matter what happens, no matter how this all turns out, I do care about you. You're like the annoying younger brother I never had and I love you just the same." Peter could feel the tears forming in his eyes as he gave Neal's hand another squeeze. "I'm going to go talk to the doctor one more time, but I'll be right back," he said. "Don't go anywhere," he joked, chuckling a little to himself at the dark joke.

Peter exited the room, quietly closing the door behind him as if Neal were only sleeping and he didn't wish to wake him. He looked up to see El still speaking with Dr. Pierce, tears in her eyes and tear tracks on her cheeks. She gave him a sad smile as he approached. "Hey honey."

"Hey," he said, returning a sad smile of his own. He turned his attention to Dr. Pierce who looked at him expectantly. "I'm sorry, I haven't made a decision yet, but I was wondering if we could run through it all again."

"Sure, Peter," said Dr. Pierce, the expectant look disappearing from his face and a forced smile replacing it. Peter knew the doctor was getting frustrated with him after all of these months, but he had also been very patient for which Peter was very glad. "As I told you, Neal's condition is worsening and I don't think he will be able to pull out of the coma on his own at the rate he is going. I have been discussing it with a few other doctors and we think that it might be possible to force Neal to wake up. It is a long shot, but it might work. It might be possible that if we stop all the life support that Neal is on, it may cause a sort of jump start to his system and force him to wake up."

"But there are risks with this, right?" asked El.

"Yes and I will not sugar coat this. If you decide to pull the plug, one of two things will happen. There is a slight chance that the shock to Neal's system from being taken off the life support so suddenly will force his body to fend for itself and force him to keep himself alive which could lead to him eventually waking. Another possibility is that his body may be too exhausted to support itself and Neal could die. To be honest, Neal is very weak and it is very likely that he could die."

"And if I decide to wait and see if he gets better?" asked Peter.

"He could, but those chances are even smaller that the shock causing him to wake up. I would say there is a 99% chance that if we wait, Neal will simply get weaker and weaker until all of his organs finally shut down. It is my professional opinion that if we wait, Neal will definitely die. Also, the longer he is in this coma, the more likely his is to have brain damage."

"And if this shock wakes him up, what are we looking at?" asked El.

"Our test, though they are not definitive, suggest that Neal has lost function of his lower extremities. CT scans of his brain are also suggesting that he will have deteriorated motor skills. We can't make any determination about brain damage, mental capability, or memory loss at this time though at least a bit of all of these seems likely."

"So Neal won't be able to paint anymore?" asked El.

"Most likely not."

"So, all in all, there is only a small chance that Neal will survive either way," said Peter dejectedly.

"Yes, the chance is small, but the chances of survival are slightly higher with the first option. This decision needs to be made quickly, though, our window is closing. Soon Neal won't be strong enough and all of this will be put back into uncertainty's hands."

"So, if it were your friend, you would stop the life support?" asked Peter.

"Peter, you know as a doctor I can't tell you that."

"I know, but as a friend, what would you do?"

Dr. Pierce looked sadly at Peter and placed a comforting hand on Peter's shoulder. "I would pull the plug if it were my friend."

Peter shut his eyes in frustration and pulled away from the doctor's touch. He walked over to the window; El's concerned eyes following him. "But he could die," Peter said sadly as he looked out the window at the rain that was pouring down onto the New Yorkers that continued on with their days, ignorant of the decisions being made in the sterile building.

"Ok, I've made my decision."

So, this was meant to be a one shot, but since I am already up to 14 pages, I think I'll split into two chapters. Let me know what you think! Good, bad, need work? Just as a side note, I am not a medical professional by any mean so most of this medical stuff isn't necessarily true. I'm pretty sure everyone knows where this is going, but oh well ^_^ It will be a while before I get the conclusion up but know I will be working on it! Keep an eye out and thanks for reading!