"So, your partner left work at roughly six-twenty, according to your secretary, two days ago - Tuesday - to meet you in the diner on Pacific Avenue. Somewhere between here and there he vanished, and you've had no contact from him since. Is that correct?"

Elbow on the desk, head propped up by his hand, Jared nodded miserably at the detective's questioning look.

"Can you think of anyone who might be holding a grudge against your partner, sir?" she asked.

"We're lawyers," Damien interjected grimly from where he stood by the window. "We make enemies every day."

"Can you think of anyone, Jared?" Infeld pressed. "Maybe someone who ended up with an extensive jail sentence because of you both?"

Jared shook his head helplessly. "There are too many."

"Do you have all of your old case files?" Damien asked. "Could we try and narrow it down?"

"They're all stored in the house. Pindar has electronic copies of everything, though."

"I'm going to need you to forward everything you've got to us," Detective Alvarez requested, sliding a card across the desk to him. "My team will be in contact to sort things out. You're sure he's not holed up with a girlfriend, maybe, somewhere?"

Jared shook his head again. "He hasn't got a girlfriend."

"He does have a way with the ladies, though," Infeld suggested with an apologetic expression. "Could he have simply become...carried away?"

"He wouldn't do that," Jared answered sharply, a faint glare crossing his tired expression. "For one thing, he'd let me know where he was, and for another - he's too conscientious about his job. He wouldn't just not show up."

"I'll be contacting the ex-girlfriends and friends you provided the names of anyway," Detective Alvarez told him, "and in the meantime, keep your phone with you at all time. We'll inform you of any developments at our end." She stood, folding her notebook back into her pocket and extending a hand to each of them in turn. She paused at the door, looking back at Jared and adding: "I'm sure we'll find your partner, sir."

Jared watched her leave, pressing a hand over his eyes . "She didn't mean that," he mumured.

"Jared," Infeld caught his attention, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'd like you to go home. You're exhausted."

Looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes, Jared asked: "What about my case?"

"I'll transfer it to Hanna and Damien. They sat in on the meetings so they're up to speed. Please," he added gently. "Go home. Tell us if you hear anything."

Late that night, Jared sat up in bed, his body frozen with alarm. Snapped out of sleep, he listened to the suffocating silence, watching his door with uncertainty, and then a soft thudding sound set his heart into overload.

The noise was followed by one more of a similar kind, slightly quieter, somewhere out near the front of the house.

Swallowing past a suddenly dry throat, he regained his mobility and slowly, quietly, leaned over the side of the mattress to reach under the bed, fingers closing around something solid and faintly dusty. Sitting back up straight, he moved the baseball bat from one hand to the other, testing the weight of it as his ears continued to strain for more sounds.

Heart thumping too quickly, he swung his bare feet onto the floor and stood up, wondering whether he should send a text to wake Pindar and Carmen and create some strength in numbers. He shook his head, dismissing the idea as he swiped a hand across his eyes and drew in a deep breath, padding silently towards the door. Armed burglaries weren't unheard of in their neighbourhood. The last thing he wanted was to put anyone in danger.

Slipping out into the hallway, sweat breaking out cold across his forehead, he moved as quickly as he could without making a sound.

The size of their open-plan design intimidated him, the realisation of just how many hiding places there were striking him in the darkness. He stood, back pressed against a wall, alone aside from the trusty friend in his hands, worn and still familiar after fifteen years of disuse, and listened.

And listened.

It was only then, as sleep faded away completely under the influence of adrenaline and he found himself still alone, that he felt the fear of precognition. Letting the bat drop, held against his thigh, he walked slowly towards the front door as if in a dream and unlocked it.

He turned the handle, pulled the door open, and Peter fell, sprawled at his feet.

Blood turned to ice in Jared's veins as he stared down, then the instinct of self-preservation forced him to look up and out into the night in case there was danger beyond the immediate horror. Wind rustled palm leaves gently, and a cat stalked into the shadows, but there was nothing else. Momentarily sure of their safety, he bent down, hooked his arms under Peter's, and hauled him bodily into the house. He closed and re-locked the door, checking it twice before sinking down onto his knees and turning Peter over onto his side, insides twisting in relief as he responded with a faint groan.

Looking around them in desperation, Jared leaned down to curl one of Peter's arms over his own shoulders, then began the incredibly strenuous and difficult task of hauling him up onto his feet. The weight he leaned against Jared's spine was almost too much, but Jared clenched his jaw and began walking them slowly back to his room, all the way having to compensate for every sway and stagger of Peter's useless, long legs.

"C'mon, buddy," he murmured under his breath. "Just a few more steps. C'mon."

As they moved into Jared's room, Peter's knees gave way altogether and he folded, taking Jared down with him to the floor with a thud. Cursing as his elbow jarred, Jared left him there and limped up to lock his door before turning on the dimmest lamp he could find and dropping back down to his knees.

He took Peter's face in his hands, forcing him to still for a moment, shock running through his core at the hugely dilated pupils, the so-familiar blue just a thin enclosure.

"Oh jesus," he cursed in desperate disbelief, Peter's dark two-day stubble rough against his palm. "Oh fuck, you're high..."

Peter's left arm flailed as he tried to pull away, the back of his hand meeting Jared's chest, fingers curling briefly in his t-shirt before dropping weakly back to the floor. An action that two days earlier would have been a painful belt to the ribs was now nothing more than a feather's touch.

"Are you with me, man?" Jared asked urgently, looking down at the same clothes he'd seen two days before, the white shirt ripped and dotted with dried blood. "Where've you been? Who were they?"

Peter didn't answer, his body curling in on itself against Jared's knees as though he was cramping up.

"Okay," Jared soothed quietly, though what he really wanted to do was scream at the ceiling. "Okay, let's get you up onto the bed so I can take a look at you. Can you do that?"

Another tussle of wills ensued as he half-carried, half-dragged Peter across the room to sit him down on the edge of the mattress, whereupon he swiftly swayed and pitched forwards against Jared, head against his stomach. Supporting him there for a moment, Jared closed his eyes and threaded the fingers of one hand through Peter's dark hair.

"Easy," he consoled, letting Peter lean against him and reaching down to undo the buttons of his shirt. "Easy."

As he peeled the sweat-damp shirt off and dropped it, he looked down to see bruises and what looked like handcuff pressure marks around Peter's wrists, and a surge of anger flooded through him. Carefully, he eased Peter down to lie on the bed and, in trepidation, examined the inside of his elbows.

Glancing up from his book at a sharp ringing, Infeld shook his head at the clock in annoyance - midnight! - and answered his phone.

"Yes, who is it?"

"It's me," was the quiet, familiar voice on the other end. "I can't come in tomorrow."

Infeld paused, all irritation draining away as he stated cautiously: "You've found him."

"He found me," Jared explained, sounding as though he was battling with a serious lump in his throat. "He's not...he's not okay. I don't even know how he got here, but whoever had him, they forced drugs on him."

"Drugs?" Infeld repeated quietly in disbelief. "What kind of drugs? God, he's not strung out, is he?"

"There're no track marks," Jared replied. "I think it's some kind of concoction. Dilated pupils, slow pulse, shaking all over..."

"Jared, he needs medical attention. No hospitals," Infeld agreed, before Jared could retort, "but I know a man. A very dear friend of mine, who can visit you discretely, ensure that Peter's not in danger. I can have him there in thirty minutes. Will you let me do that?"

"Okay," Jared agreed uncertainly. "Okay, but we have to keep this quiet, Stanton. It could end his career if it got out."

"The secret's safe, Jared. No one will find out. I'll text you a photograph of Dr. Mason so you know who to expect at the door. Do you need anything else?"

"Yeah," Jared said, voice croaky with emotion. "I need Damien."

While he waited at the front door for Infeld's man to arrive, breathing in the warm night air in the hope it might calm his nerves, Jared was startled by quiet footsteps to his side.

Dark eyes nervous, Pindar fixed him with a troubled look. "Is he back?" he asked, wringing his hands. "What's going on?'

"He's back. He's in my room, but...Pindy, I don't think you wanna be around for this, man," Jared told him softly. "It could get messy. Puking, sweating, crying kind of messy." As Pindar's eyes widened in preemptive fear, he added: "In a way, I...I kind've need to do this on my own, anyway. Is that weird?"

Shaking his head, relief underlying the worry in his expression, Pindar said: "I'm assuming you're talking about drugs, which means he might be confused when he comes round, in which case it should be you there with him. Probably the less people who witness it the better."

Jared nodded, managing a crooked smile. "Thanks, man. I'd hug you, if I didn't know you'd have to shower three times afterwards."

Pindar smiled back at him. "You're a good friend, Jared. If you need me to do anything that doesn't involve bodily fluids or leaving the house, let me know."

Doctor Mason turned out to be a man of Infeld's age, balding and, strangely, apparently not at all upset about being called out in the middle of the night. He shook Jared's hand with a smile and followed him to Peter's room, bag in hand.

"You say he's been missing for a few days, is that right? he asked, pulling on a pair of blue latex gloves.

"Just over two," Jared confirmed, watching him like a hawk as he gathered a couple of blood test bottles and placed them on the beside table. "He's been conscious since he got back, but completely not with the programme."

"Yes, I'd say your original deduction of a mixture of drugs was correct, Mr. Franklin," Mason mused, shining a torch into Peter's unnatural looking eyes and nodding at the lack of pupil response. "I'll check his blood pressure, then take some blood samples. I'll be able to tell you in an hour or two what's in his system."

"What, you've got your own lab or something?" Jared asked in bemusement, moving closer to lay a hand on Peter's thigh as he tried to move away from the blood pressure cuff.

"Actually, yes," Mason told him. "And Stanton's paying for all this, aside from which I owe him one."

"How do you two know each other, exactly?"

"Oh, we go way back," Mason provided vaguely, removing the cuff and pressing his fingers carefully against Peter's ribs. "Blood pressure's low, that's to be expected. There's nothing we can do about these bruises - doesn't feel like anything's broken. He's dehydrated though. You're not squeamish are you, Mr. Franklin?"

"No, luckily. If me and Peter's roles were reversed here thenyou'd have a problem. What d'you need me to do?"

"When I've finished here, sit him up, support him, and get him to drink some water. A whole glass if you can, and then more later. You'll get sweaty, you might get thrown up on a little, but getting him re-hydrated will be a good step in making his come down as easy as possible."

"That's not a problem," Jared said, shaking his head. "I'll do whatever it takes."

"Good man," Mason encouraged, placing his two filled blood-sample tubes carefully into his bag and scribbling a number down on the back of a leaflet about heart disease. "Here. I'll leave you to it, but call me if you need to. Any time of day or night. I'll be in touch soon about the results."

"Thanks doc," Jared said gratefully, showing him the way back out. "I'll do that."

It was as Jared was sat, propped up against the headboard with Peter in front of him, coaxing water slowly down his throat, that Peter had a few minutes of lucidity.

He choked slightly, coughing and clamping one of his hands tightly down on Jared's thigh. "Jared?" he asked breathlessly, "Is that...?"

"Yes!" Jared exclaimed, setting the water down and manouevering them until he could meet Peter's wide eyes, reaching out to grab his hands. "It's me, buddy, you're home. Do you feel okay? Can you tell me what happened?"

Fighting back a tremor, Peter leaned in close to him and Jared pulled him into an awkwardly positioned hug, feeling Peter press his face into his shoulder. "I can't remember," he whispered raggedly. "Fuck, Jared, I can't remember anything..."

"That's okay," Jared soothed softly, rubbing his back, up and down the curve of his spine. "Don't worry about that right now. Some assholes drugged you."

"They gave me something," Peter muttered, rocking slightly as he tried to press deeper into Jared's embrace. "I think they roofied me..."

Jared froze mid-stroke, stomach dropping. "What?" he asked brokenly. "Who? Who?"

Peter shivered violently again and Jared pushed him away far enough to see that he was gone again, eyes vacant and looking straight through him.

"Oh, fuck," he whispered, hugging him again, only this time it was for his own benefit. "Oh, fuck."

"It's LSD," Doctor Mason informed him an hour later, the bizarrely jarring sound of The Kinks playing loudly in the background, wherever the hell he was. "There are traces of Rohypnol too, which is what's making him disorientated, but the LSD is the prevalent problem. I imagine they must've forced it on him several times over the last couple of days. You can get it in a liquid form, you see."

"Yeah," Jared said weakly, looking down at the head in his lap, where Peter slept on unawares. "I know."

"People develop a very rapid tolerance to it, so I imagine that's why they've let him go already. Dosed him up and thrown him out. For what purpose they felt the need to dose him up, though, I can't imagine."

"I think I know," Jared told him grimly. "Is there anything I should do? Knowing what you know, now."

"I'm afraid there's nothing you can do to speed things along, son. The effects can last up to eight hours, and we don't know when he got the last dose. Just keep getting that water down him, keep him comfortable, and when he comes round you can start thinking about getting round to food. It's rather an odd combination, so you'll want to watch out for the come down. If they beat him while he was hallucinating, it's entirely possible he'll have negative flashbacks later on. I hope not, for his sake, but it's possible."

"Right," Jared said, closing his eyes tightly and stroking a hand through Peter's hair. "Thanks, doc. Can you call Infeld, tell him too? I don't think I can talk about it any more."

"Of course, son. Good luck, and remember - call me if you need me."

The sun was coming up when Jared looked up from Peter's still sleeping face, a soft tap at the door startling him.

Lifting Peter's head gently down onto the mattress, he got up, wincing at the pins and needles as he limped across the room. Sliding the bolt, he opened the door just slightly and found himself looking up into piercing blue eyes.

"Damien?" he said in surprise, pulling the door further and letting him in. "Man, it's five am!"

Damien smiled, shrugged a shoulder, handed him a brown paper bag full of gatorade, coca-cola, candy bars and aspirin, and pushed a styrofoam cup of coffee into his other hand. "Stanton said you needed me," he said simply, locking the door behind them and watching the amazement on Jared's face.

"Wow, I..." Jared tailed off, closing his eyes as the scent of strong coffee hit him. "I think I loveyou. Thanks, man. Seriously."

To yet more surprise, Jared watched as Damien approached the bed without hesitation, sitting down on the edge of the mattress and reaching out to press the backs of his fingers to Peter's damp forehead. Peter mumbled something unintelligible at his touch.

"Feels like he's got a fever," Damien said, looking down at Peter with tight-jawed anger. "Mason told me LSD can up your body temperature."

Regarding him from a distance, putting the bag down on the floor, Jared mused: "I always figured you for a hands-off kinda guy, y'know?"

Damien glanced across at him with those startling blue eyes. "Don't judge a book by its cover, Franklin. If I'd've done that when you started at Infeld-Daniels, I'd've thought we'd employed Peter Pan and Tinkerbell."

Jared found himself with a quirk of a grin despite himself, and he felt some of the tension ease out of his muscles as he watched Damien hook an arm under Peter's neck, supporting him up into a sitting position to take a drink. Shirt sleeves rolled up, tie flipped back over his shoulder, he looked like he'd done it a million times. He looked like he could make everything alright.

"What're we gonna do about the cops?" Jared asked, anxiety hitting him again as he considered Detective Alvarez. "We can't let this get out."

Damien shook his head, easing Peter back down. "Don't worry about it. Stanton's got everything under control. You don't need to think about anything except your life-partner, okay?"

"You know, it's not fair you getting to fuck with me when I'm not at my best," Jared pointed out, smiling again as Damien shot him a grin. "But I guess I owe you some free shots."

"Sure," Damien said dryly, standing up and flattening his tie back down, looking as though he'd just stepped out of a catalogue. "Just make sure you keep in touch. I'll be back later."

"Okay," Jared agreed, silently relieved to hear it. "Can you say thanks to Infeld for me, too?"

Damien clapped him on the shoulder before opening the door with a nod. "No problem."

An hour later, Peter was up, and awake, and retching uncontrollably into the toilet. He'd jerked awake into full consciousness, clawed at the sheets wrapped around his legs, then practically fallen off the end of the bed in his hurry to get to the bathroom, Jared watching him with his mouth open in surprise.

There was only water in Peter's stomach and not much of that, so the resulting sound was like something was trying to claw its way up his throat. Jared crouched behind him, rubbing his back slowly and waiting for some sign of a let-up, watching the shift of his shoulder blades as he dragged in deep breaths, trying to stem the rising nausea.

He knew how much Peter hated being sick, and he was also minutely aware of how much it would hurt with nothing coming up.

"Keep taking deep breaths, man," he said softly, not wanting to interrupt Peter's concentration. "You can fight it off."

Peter gasped, lengthening every intake and swallowing audibly, his hands clenched into fists on the rim of the toilet, the new pattern of breathing seeming to help.

Seconds passed, minutes passed, and eventually the tightness in his shoulders began to ease, his breaths slowing back to something normal. Jared stood, filling a glass at the sink and passing it down to him, watching as he carefully rinsed his mouth and spat, then flushed the toilet.

"Has it passed?" he asked cautiously. "You okay?"

Peter sighed miserably. "I think so," he grated, a barest whisper of words. "God, that sucked."

"Are you...are you youagain?"

Peter dropped his head, pressing it to his forearms where they crossed on the toilet rim. "I see flashing lights when I close my eyes and the walls are dripping, so I guess not. It's been like this for days. I don't know what's real anymore."

"Me," Jared told him fiercely, placing a hand on the top of his head. "I'm real. You're real. And we're home. No one else's gonna touch you now."

With a grunt of doubting understanding, Peter pushing himself up to his feet, grabbing the sink and the doorjamb as he shuffled his way back to the bed. He crawled back onto it and was asleep again in seconds.

Jared stood in the doorway to the bathroom and watched, anxious concern creasing his brow.

Seven minutes later, Peter was awake again.

"No!" he yelped in that ruined voice, sitting bolt upright, terror in his eyes. "Jared? No..."

Darting across the room to him, Jared waved a hand in front of his face and got no response, so he took hold of one of his hands carefully instead. "It's okay, man," he consoled, "you're just having a bad trip. I'm right here."

"Jared?" Peter whispered, scrambling back against the headboard. "Oh my god it's -"

"It's okay, it's okay, I promise. What're you seeing?"

"Blood, oh fuck, there's blood..."

"There's no blood, man, you're safe. You're gonna be okay in just a couple of hours, that's all."

"It's all over you!"

"What?" Jared asked, startled, looking down at himself in surprise. "I promise you, Peter, I'm okay, there's no blood, alright buddy? Here, feel."

He brought Peter's hand closer to himself. Peter's head turned sharply to stare up at him in confusion.

Seconds later he was off the bed again, lurching towards the door with frighteningly sudden speed. Jared took off after him, reaching the door first and pressing his back to it, stretching his arms out to block the way as Peter loomed over him, eyes terrifyingly lost.

"Get out," he muttered, trying to reach past Jared to the handle. "Gotta get out, before they come back..."

Jared pressed his hands flat against Peter's chest, protective streak the only thing overpowering his fear as Peter grabbed his wrists painfully tightly.

When Damien returned around lunch time, Peter was lying slumped on his front, and Jared was sat on the floor in the bathroom, leaning back against the bath, knees drawn up, head buried in his hands. Staring in uncertainty for a second, Damien saw his shoulders shake and quickly dumped the bags on the desk, crossing the room in four long strides and dropping to a crouch next to him.

"Hey," he said quietly, sliding a consoling hand across Jared's hunched shoulders and rubbing slow circles. "What happened? You okay?"

Jared pulled his hands away and Damien was relieved to see that he wasn't in absolute floods, but there were tears tracking down his cheeks and his eyes...

He stared at the beginnings of a black eye.

"What the hell?" he asked in confusion. "He hit you?"

"My fault," Jared said hoarsely, shaking his head. "He was seeing something and he tried to get out, and I tried to calm him down, and he lashed out. 'm orry," he muttered, swiping his sleeve across his face. "Being an idiot. It's not that he hit me, it's just he was so...not him. He looked at me and he just...didn't recognise me. First he thought I was covered in blood, then he thought there was someone after him, and...jesus, if he'd managed to get past me...anything could've happened to him..."

"It's to be expected," Damien told him kindly, inspecting the damage carefully, "but he'll come round. It's possible to fuck with someone's head when they're on that stuff. Maybe the assholes who took him tried to put an idea in his head about you, just to screw him up. He'll be okay. You've just gotta let him know you're alright. Despite the fact you look ready to drop."

"I'm fine. I'm not the one who's been pumped full of that shit."

"He's your best friend, Jared. You love him. So no, you're not fine."

Sitting down next to him on the floor, Damien reached an arm around his shoulders and pulled him against his side in solidarity.

When Peter next scrambled into wakefulness, Damien was at the ready and he slid behind him to lean against the headboard, wrapping an arm around his middle, holding him steady.

"It's okay, Bash," he uttered calmly, "take it easy."

"Jared?" Peter asked wildly, head whipping around and almost taking out Damien's nose.

"No, it's Damien. Jared's sleeping."

"Jared's alive?"

"Jared's alive and kicking," Damien confirmed, wrapping his free hand around Peter's forehead and pulling his head back to rest against his shoulder. "He's worried about you."

"I saw him, they showedme..."

"Whatever they showed you, Peter, it was a lie. Look, turn your head a little. He's right here."

Damien guided Peter to glance down at the other side of the bed, where Jared lay facing them, frowning in his sleep. "He's just asleep. Do you see him?"

Peter stared, breathing in air like a drowning man, every intake making him shiver. Damien took his hand and held it just in front of Jared's face.

"Do you feel him breathing?"

Nodding faintly, Peter closed his eyes and slumped in Damien's arms, the cool hand against his forehead blissfully soothing. "I think I'm going mad," he admitted weakly.

"No you're not," Damien assured him. "You've been hallucinating, that's all. You'll be alright."

Nodding once more, Peter let out a sigh and his body relaxed completely as he slipped back into his troubled sleep.

Holding him for a moment more, feeling his heart beat slow, Damien eased him carefully back down and stood, regarding the sleeping pair with a hint of a fond smile. Picking up his bag, he gave them one last look before letting himself out quietly.

Peter woke to the feeling of warmth against his ribs. There was a heavy, cotton wool feeling in his head and his body felt like it may never move again, but that warmth filled the terrifying, gaping hole in his chest. Opening his eyes tentatively, he blinked and watched in wonder as the room failed to wobble unsteadily. The walls, the ceiling, everything was the right shape, and there were no patterns of colour creeping into the peripherals of his vision.

And there was Jared, curled into the shape of his body, his breaths gusting warm right against Peter's sternum. Peter closed his eyes tightly, residual feelings of panicked grief assaulting him like physical blows, then he craned his neck down and pressed a kiss to the top of Jared's head, breathing him in and feeling the terror of his trip begin to ebb away.

Easing away gently, he crept to his feet and stretched, long limbs protesting at the sudden movement, a wonderful rush of blood flowing to every finger and every toe. He padded into the bathroom, closed the door softly, and set to work cleaning himself up.

Jared awoke to the sensation of fingers in his hair, stroking slowly in a mesmerising, hypnotic pattern. Opening his eyes in wonder, he blinked up into the pale, smiling, lucidface of his best friend.

"Peter?" he whispered, confused, eyes roving across the wet, pushed back hair, a dark, rebellious strand falling into stunning blue eyes. The sharp scent of sweat that had surrounded them was gone, replaced with something soft and clean - vanilla, he thought - and minty toothpaste.

"Hey," Peter greeted him softly, and then without warning he leaned in and kissed Jared hard, the feeling behind it forcing Jared's eyes shut again. He hummed his relieved, desperate approval, opening up without question as Peter licked his way into his mouth, his hands still buried tenderly in Jared's hair. Peter kissed him until he was breathless, lungs burning, possessive and needy and searching for reassurance.

When they broke apart, from a sheer need to look at each other rather than any desire to end the kiss, Jared reached out to touch his smooth cheek gently.

"You're okay?" he asked, worry still gnawing at his insides. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

Peter shook his head, bestowing that soft smile on him again. "You needed it. I needed to shower. And I feel...fragile," he admitted uncertainly. "But I don't feel like I'm dying anymore."

"Do you know who did it?" Jared asked, his mind still working on revenge. "Do you remember what happened?"

Peter's brow creased as he thought. "Some guys jumped me on my way out of the office. That's really the only clear thing, the rest is all just...flashes. Being forced to drink something. Handcuffs. Not much else. I don't even know who they were."

"I think I do," Jared told him, reaching out to touch one of the healing bruises under Peter's ribs. "The defendent in our case. He's got four brothers, all with rap sheets like shopping lists. I saw how angry they were getting while you were working your magic in court on Tuesday. My guess is they thought they'd stand a better chance with you out of the picture, and they knew taking you out would take me out too."

Peter listened intently, wincing slightly as he admitted: "That makes sense. There were four of them."

"Bastards," Jared cursed furiously. "Cowardly fucking assholes."

"How many people know?" Peter asked cautiously. "About me?"

"Me, Damien, Infeld, and Infeld's mystery doctor. That's it. No one else'll find out - Infeld's on the case."

Nodding pensively, Peter exhaled a heartfelt sigh and held Jared's lively blue gaze for a long moment before leaning in to brush their kiss-bruised lips together more gently.

"Thank you," he breathed against Jared's jaw, sliding a hand slowly over Jared's ribcage to rest over his hip. "I think I would've floated away without you."

Curling an arm over Peter's waist, an anchor, Jared shook his head with grim certainty. "I'll never let that happen."

"This might not be over," Peter warned, anxiety lingering in his eyes as he leaned into the protective touch. "Someone could grab my arm or I might see something and it'll just all come flooding back. I could be really fucked up, Jar."

"I know," Jared reassured, pressing one more kiss to Peter's lips before looking him in the eye and repeating firmly: "I know that. But I'll be there, this time."