Peter was tired, but he couldn't force himself to go. He was sitting on the edge of Neal's hospital bed, waiting for him to wake up from the surgery. Luckily, the bullet had hit a rib, and Neal wouldn't have permanent consequences. But Peter couldn't stop thinking about what happened, while they were taking down Hagen: the noise of the shot, his surprise when Neal had thrown himself against him, the pain in his knee when he touched the ground. Then, the shouts of the other agents while they handcuffed Hagen, his own frantic shouts when he had noticed Neal's stillness and the large blood stain on his chest. Then, everything was a blur: Jones ha d called the paramedics while Diana was trying to stop the blood flow with her hands. He, Peter, was able only to call desperately Neal's name. Now the worst had passed, but Peter couldn't stop thinking about what happened. "Stop blaming yourself – El had told him that morning – you would have done the same for him". Yes, yes, ten times yes. Of course he would have done the same for Neal. But that wasn't a relief for him. If he had been more careful, if he had watched on his right a second earlier, things could have been different, and Neal wouldn't have been in the hospital. But things could also have gone worse: if the bullet had hit Neal a few inches on the left, if Hagen's aim would have been better, now Peter could have been there, crying for the death of his friends. Peter shuddered at the thought. He and Peter had their problems, and their relationship was very difficult lately, but he still loved Neal like a brother, or like a son. And he knew that Neal loved him the same way. He took a bullet for him.
Suddenly, Neal started moving and moaning. Peter touched his head, caressing his hair, and whispered: "Sshh, Neal, don't worry. I'm here, everything is fine". Neal calmed himself instantly, and Peter was touched by the way his presence seemed so important for his friend, even if he was in a deep sleep after surgery. They needed to talk. When Neal would be better, they would have talk freely. They needed to express their doubts, their needs; they needed to speak their minds: and then to hug each other, move on and be friends again, leaving behind the fights and the incomprehension. Because their friendship was more important than everything else. Peter suddenly realize that he had left the hand on Neal's head, and he was gently stroking his hair. Peter smiled, noticing how Neal seemed calmer, less pale. They were a really strange couple of friends. When he did the deal with Neal, years earlier, he didn't think that they could become so close.
Again, Neal started stirring. This time, Peter called him softly. Neal sighed, and squeezed his eyelids. Then, the blue of his eyes was watching Peter, who smiled, trying to hold back the tears of relief. "Welcome back, Neal."
Neal's expression was confused, and he moved his gaze around the room, before watching Peter again. Then, he smiled to his friend.