Like an escape to "remember" only I used "forget" because of the most probable effects of the sedative.

Anyway, I'm glad I was able to write another WC fanfic. It's been a little too long for me. And the episode I've chosen to write about? One of the best and funniest bromantic White Collar episodes yet: Vital Signs!

Oh, here's something funny I've been wanting to say. Sometimes, when I talk about White collar really fast and excitedly, I'll accidentally say "Neter" instead of Neal or Peter. Then I break out laughing. Neter and Peal.

Anywho, please read and enjoy. As usual, when I try to make short fanfics, they turn into something long enough to be split into chapters to there will be more chapters are this one.

An Escape to Forget

The security camera tape was tucked safely in his pocket.

The ex-con was draped over his shoulder.

And a single phrase resounded in his head over and over.

All in all, it was a hopeless situation.

Peter Burke repositioned the arm of the ex-convict on his shoulder and tightened his grip around the dark-haired man's waist.

Neal Caffrey stumbled at his side, trying his best to push through the sedative-induced fog to lighten his weight from Peter. His arm felt like it was being torn from its socket as Peter grasped his wrist tightly to ensure that the younger man would not fall to the floor. His feet fumbled under him and refused to walk properly. He swayed at the agent's side, his head lolling left and right languidly.

"Come on, Neal," Peter urged, stopped to shift Neal's weight once more. "I need you to help me here. I can't carry you all the way."

"But you're so strong," Neal slurred supportively. "I mean really strong. I'm barely helping. Way to go."

"This isn't a contest," Peter snapped with irritation. "I need you to help. Not cheer."

"Peter, Peter! He's our man! If he can't do it, no one can!" Neal cheered loudly in a broken song.

"Shh!" Peter commanded harshly. "I said not cheer."

"I'm just trying to help," Neal shrugged with a hurt pout.

"Then shut up and keep moving."

Neal made a face but forced his feet to actually lift up from the ground in the action of walking. But his legs were shaking so badly and his feet constantly slipped out from under him. His whole body felt so tired. It would be easy to just stop and go to sleep.

Neal's legs collapsed under him and he fell to the ground, bringing Peter down with him. Neal landed in a heap, his cheek pressed against the cold marble of the hallway. Peter pushed Neal's arm off from his shoulders and moved to his hands and knees.

"Damn it, Neal!" he cursed aloud, his eyes shooting furtive glances up and down to hall. If someone were to find them now… there would be no escape.

Neal groaned audibly, his brow furrowed with pain. Peter's temper softened a he gently eased Neal onto his back.

"Hey, no giving up now," he ordered calmly. "We have to get out of here before they find us."

Neal's eyes remained closed; showing no sign of having heard Peter. Concern growing stronger than anger, Peter moved closer protectively and touched his hand to Neal's shoulder.

Again he looked up and down the hallway, straining to hear any sound of approaching danger. When the doctor's found that Neal was missing from Powell's office, they were sure to start searching for him. And with the missing security tape that contained the proof of Neal's break-in, security was sure to be scourging every corner of the building.

Peter looked down at Neal. They had to get out. They had to get out, find someplace safe, and he had to treat Neal. There is only so much sedative a man could take. And it looked like Neal had been injected with the maximum amount.

"Neal," Peter called, shaking the younger man's shoulder. "Come on, we have to keep moving."

But where would they go? Security cameras were all over the place, capturing every movement. No place was safe.

"Peter."

Peter was torn from his thoughts at the sound of the piteous voice. He looked down to see the glossy blue gaze of Neal looking back at him. The very action seemed to put strain on the poor man.

"Yeah?" Peter asked as he leaned down closer to Neal.

"Are you trying to find a way out?"

Peter gave a start at the direct and rather self-explanatory question; his wide eyes staring back at Neal. "Yes," he answered simply.

"Why didn't you say so in the first place," Neal groaned as he pushed himself into a sitting position. As soon as he made it up, he threatened to fall again and Peter placed himself beside the ex-con to offer support.

"Do you know a safe way out?" Peter asked sternly.

A crooked smile brightened Neal's face. "Of course. Always gotta know an escape plan. Got the plan right here," he said as he tapped his temple.

"What is it?" Peter asked; renewed hope trickling into his voice.

"What's the magic word?" Neal asked with a stupid grin.

"Spit it out!"

"All right. Jeez. Don't have to be so rude," Neal pouted indignantly. Suddenly, his eyes focused and he looked straight at Peter; his ridiculous smile wiped from his lips.

"There are cameras watching every room; every hall," he explained seriously.

"I figured as much," Peter sighed.

"But there's one place that goes unwatched," Neal continued dramatically.

Peter looked at him expectantly as the devious grin returned to the ex-con's lips.

"The stairs."

_._._._._._._

Writing about a sedated and drunk-like Neal is so much fun. ^_^

Pretty good so far. Yes, no, maybe so? I do very much love reviews.

Until next time then (sooner if you review),
Hobey-Ho!