New story! Yay!

I'm not giving up on my other one, I'm just going to work on both. I'm not going to just leave you guys hanging.

I would like to thank 'Larura' for beta-ing my story. Thank you Larura!

Now, on to the story!

Peter watched from his office on Monday morning as Neal walked into the FBI White Collar Unit on the 21st floor, right on time. He did not seem to look as cheerful or lively as he usually did. It was subtle though, and only someone who had known him for years would have been able to tell. Of course, that someone was Peter. He could always tell if the young man was hiding something or was off his game.

Before Neal could sit down at his desk, Peter gave him the double finger point from the top of the stairs before heading back into his office.

As Peter watched Neal make his way to his office, he could see a slight limp in his walk and noticed how he subtlety hugged his stomach with one arm.

"What's up, Peter?" Neal asked with a smile as he carefully sat down on one of the chairs in front of Peter's desk.

Peter noticed that Neal's hat was pulled way down over his head. He could barely see his right eye. "Take off your hat, Neal."

"Why?" Neal asked innocently.

"I can't see your face. I can't talk to you if I can't see you."

"You're talking to me right now," Neal said, like his logic made complete sense.

"Neal..." Peter said in his warning tone that usually got Neal to do as he was told.

Neal sighed in annoyance and reluctantly took off his hat. Peter could now see a nasty purple bruise over his right eye.

"What happened?" Peter asked as he gestured to Neal's face.

Neal looked at him with confusion. "Huh?" he said, then seemed to understand as he put a hand over his eye. "Oh, that. Ran into a door," he said with a shrug and a 'what can you do?' expression on his face.

Peter looked at him, disbelieving the tale that Neal was spinning. "A door," he said in a monotone voice.

"Yeah," Neal nodded. "I didn't notice that it shut, then 'wham,' " he said as he smacked his hands together to demonstrate the apparent collision.

"Is that really the story you're going to stick with?" Peter asked as he leaned forward with his elbows on his desk and interlocked his fingers.

"It's not a story, it's the truth." Neal looked annoyed that Peter didn't believe him.

"Did the 'door' run into your leg, too?"

"No," Neal said slowly with a confused look on his face.

"You were limping," Peter explained.

"Oh, my new shoes haven't broken in yet," Neal said, as if it explained everything.

"So that's why you're limping? Your shoes are uncomfortable?" Peter said, not believing any of this ridiculous story.

"Yes, my feet hurt," Neal said, looking angry and annoyed. "Are you done interrogating me about how I walk and what I wear, or can I get to work?"

Peter sighed. "Well, whenever you want to tell me, I'm here."

That seemed to get through to Neal a little. He nodded. "Yeah, ok," he said as he got up and left.

'That was strange,' Peter thought to himself. 'Did something happen to Neal? Why did he not think he could tell me? Was he doing something illegal?' Peter scoffed at his last mental question. 'Probably.'

Peter decided to wait Neal out and see if he'd come and talk to him. If that didn't work, he'd corner him and force him to tell him what happened. Yup, seemed like a plan.

Throughout the day Neal looked more and more miserable. He kept rubbing his temples like he had a headache when he thought no one was looking, and Peter saw that when he moved too quickly or stretched too far he couldn't help but wince. Something was wrong, but Neal was being as stubborn, as always, and wasn't going to tell him.

At about 3 p.m., Peter was making his way down the hall and to the bathroom. When he opened the door to the bathroom he saw Neal with no shirt on in front of the sink. The action would have been confusing if not for the dark bruises all over his abdomen and a long, painful looking cut along his left side that seemed to be bleeding a little. "Neal?"

The moment Peter came in Neal looked up at him through the mirror, looking to all the world like a kid that just got caught stealing cookies out of the cookie jar. "It's not what it looks like?" Neal offered meekly.

Peter didn't really know what to ask first, so he just settled on, "What happened?"

"If it helps, I thought I locked the door."

"The lock's broken. And no, it doesn't."

"Oh - you should get that fixed," Neal said and wiped at the blood from the cut going down his side with a paper towel.

"Here, let me help," Peter said as he came over a grabbed the paper towel from Neal's hand, then started cleaning around the wound, trying to ignore the hisses of pain from Neal. The wound didn't look deep, but it looked like it might be infected, though Peter couldn't be sure. "You still didn't answer my question," Peter said offhandedly.

"What was it again? I forgot."

Peter tried not to roll his eyes. Neal knew what the question was, he was just stalling. "What happened? And don't tell me your scissors attacked you while you were cutting something."

"No, not scissors. A knife."

"Ok. How did the knife cut you?"

"A guy swung it at me."

Peter sighed. Neal was not going to make this easy. "What was the guy's name?"

"I didn't stop to ask. Ow!" Neal said as Peter got too close to the wound.

"Sorry. Where were you?" Peter asked.

"In my two mile radius, as always," Neal replied. Smart-ass.

Peter stopped cleaning the blood and looked Neal in the eyes. "That's enough, we're going to the hospital, then you're going to tell me everything."

Neal backed up a step. "I'm not going to the hospital; I'm fine." He backed up another step, but his leg gave out under him. He would have fallen if Peter hadn't grabbed him under the arms and lowered him slowly to the floor, leaning him against the bathroom stall.

"Yeah, you're fine," Peter said sarcastically. "What's wrong with your leg?"

"New shoes?" He answered meekly again.

"Bull," Peter replied and reached for Neal's belt, but Neal stopped him.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You haven't bought me dinner yet, mister," Neal said with a sly grin.

Peter shook his head and tried not to smirk. "I need to see what's wrong with your leg. I'm not trying to get fresh."

"Good, because I don't know what Elizabeth would think," Neal said in a serious tone. "I mean, we would tell her, right? I don't think we could keep that a secret very long," he said with a wink.

Peter pointed a finger at Neal. "I would not cheat on my wife."

"So we would tell her."

"No, we wouldn't," Peter said and held up his hand before Neal could say something. "There would be nothing to say. There is nothing to say."

Neal nodded in understanding and took Peter's hand. "It's ok, we can still be friends," Neal said with such a serious look on his face that it almost seemed like he was telling him the truth, but then he smiled that million dollar smile that wooed countless women and annoyed one FBI agent to no end.

Peter shook his head and reached for Neal's belt again, but he was intercepted again. "I can get my own pants off, thank you very much," Neal said, but made no move to do so.

"Are you going to show me your ability to remove your pants, or I'm going have to get involved again?"

"You really want me to take my pants off, don't you?" Neal said with a mischievous smile.

Peter shook his head. "I just need to see what we're dealing with here."

"It's just a bruise," Neal explained.

Peter decided to try a different tactic, seeing as how the one he was trying was getting nowhere. "How did you get the bruise?"

Neal muttered something under his breath that Peter couldn't hear.

"What was that?"

"A baseball bat," Neal said quietly.

Peter's eyes widened at that. "A baseball bat? What did you do to make someone so angry that they would take a knife and a bat to you?" Peter asked, almost yelling now.

"What makes you think it was my fault?" Neal replied automatically.

Peter just gave him a look that said 'because I know who I'm talking to'.

"You can believe it or not, Peter, but it wasn't my fault this time."

"I think I'll need a little more evidence than you're opinion with this."

A hurt look flashed across Neal's face for a second. "Trust but verify?" he said softly.

Peter nodded. "Yeah, something like that." After a minute, Peter spoke up again. "I'm taking you to the hospital. You can come willingly, or I can wait until you try to stand up again and hit your head and pass out so I can drag you there."

Neal seemed to think about that for a minute, then said "I think I'll come willingly. I don't need to add a concussion to my list of injuries."

Peter nodded in agreement. "Can you stand?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, with some help," Neal said, looking a little embarrassed.

Peter pulled Neal's arm around his shoulders and hefted him up. Neal let out a muffled cry of pain and pinched his eyes shut. As Neal stood, he favored his injured leg and Peter guessed that Neal realized there was no point in keeping up a front anymore.

Peter grabbed Neal's shirt from the counter and saw that it had a little blood on it. He handed it to over to Neal. "Do you need help putting that on?" Peter asked as he gestured to the shirt.

"No. If I can take off my pants, I can put on a shirt," Neal said and proved it by slowly putting it on, then smiled triumphantly like he just accomplished a major feat.

"I still haven't seen you do one of those," Peter commented.

"Maybe after dinner," Neal replied with another grin.

Peter put Neal's arm around his shoulder and the two men made their way out of the bathroom and to the Taurus. The whole way there they earned many concerned looks and a few people stopped and asked if they needed help, but Peter just waved them off, telling them that they were on their way to the hospital.

When they finally made it to Peter's car, both men were sweating and Neal looked like he was about to collapse. "Please get in the car before you pass out," Peter panted as he dragged his ward the last few feet and opened the passenger side of the car and deposited him in the seat.

Peter then got into his seat, started up the car, and made his way to the nearest hospital.

Neal had his eyes closed and rested his head against the window most of the ride, but Peter knew he wasn't asleep. His breathing was too fast and uneven.

Well, there it is! I will post the next chapter in a day or two. (Depending on how good you guys are. ;-))

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