Here's the next chapter! I'm no professional when it comes to medical procedure, but I tried to make it as realistic as possible.

Ten hours later Peter was sitting in a chair next to the bed that held his emaciated CI. Neal hadn't woken up since he'd passed out in Peter's arms in that hellish room, but, given his condition, it wasn't too surprising.

Dehydration, malnutrition, exhaustion, bruises everywhere. There were small burns in various sizes on his chest and stomach. They appeared to have been made from a taser or cigarette, or possibly both. Cuts, some small and others deeper, and scars in various stages of healing also covered his once untainted body.

He had caught pneumonia because of the condition of the room he had been held in, and because of his broken and partially healed ribs. They had to drain his lungs because there was so much fluid in them. He immediately started breathing better after that, much to everyone's relief.

The doctors had said that there was evidence of his shoulder being dislocated at one point, but it had been put back in place. His lower-left leg had also been broken, but it must have been early in his imprisonment because it was mostly healed. A cast hadn't been put on it, but it healed pretty well and Peter suspected that Neal had tried his best to keep it straight so it could heal as best as it could in the situation he had been in. It was a clean break, so that had helped as well.

The break had been healing on its own so long that the doctors felt that an operation wouldn't do much to help. Neal may walk with a limp, but they couldn't tell until he started walking. His left wrist was also broken, but it had only happened a few days before. The doctors said that his wrist should heal just fine.

They had gotten the manacles off of Neal's wrists when he got to the hospital, but what they found underneath was concerning. Because of the long-term contact with the manacles, his wrists had been rubbed raw and the wounds became infected. The doctors cleaned the wounds up, but with all of the other things Neal's body was fighting, the infection wasn't going away as fast as the doctors were hoping.

With every new injury the doctors told Peter about, the more sick he felt. A month. Neal was in that room for an entire month, going through who knew what while Peter was thinking that he was sitting on a beach somewhere, sipping martinis that were being served by beautiful women. Every time he thought about that the guilt would hit him like a sucker-punch to the stomach.

Peter took another look at his partner. A nasal cannula snaked over some of the bruises on the younger mans face and his hollowed cheekbones. One of the nurses had shaved his beard - that had made him look more like himself, but he was still nowhere close to the suave and charming conman that Peter had thought he knew.

His wrists were in thickly wrapped bandages, but the left one had a cast that could be taken off to get to the infected wounds underneath. His abdomen was also wrapped up to support his ribs and patches of gauze covered various stitched up cuts. Wires and tubes were hooked up to his partner, helping him stay alive. The head of the bed he was in was elevated so he could breathe easier. His hair was longer than the last time Peter had seen him, over a month ago.

Jones and the other agents that raided the rest of the place that Neal was in found another man in the building. His name was Thomas Ritter and according to their intel, the man was a real psychopath. He was the go-to guy when you wanted to get information from a person. Ritter would do his thing, sending pictures of his progress, then when he got what they wanted, he would give them back to his employers or kill them and dump their body if that's what they wanted. Neal was with that man for a month and didn't break. Peter couldn't even begin to imagine what he had gone through, and he really didn't want to.

Peter knew he probably should've been drilling the man that had done all of this to his friend, but Hughes threatened Peter's job if he saw the agent anywhere near the man. Peter was both annoyed and relieved that his boss had said that. Now he didn't have the choice of either interrogating the man that brought one of the strongest men he knew to his knees and be tempted to strangle him, or sit with his young CI and make sure he didn't wake up alone or with someone he didn't know. After everything, Neal needed to know that he was safe.

A low moan brought Peter out of his thoughts. He looked up to see that Neal was stirring. Peter leaned in and soon he was rewarded with two cerulean-blue eyes staring back at him.

Peter smiled, ecstatic to see his friends eyes open. But then Neal cringed back, eyes wide and afraid.

Peter leaned back, hands up in a placating manner. "Hey, it's okay, Neal. It's me, Peter," he said calmly.

Peter's words didn't seem to sooth the man's fears. Neal's eyes flicked from Peter, to the door, to the wall. He looked everywhere, as if he was looking for someone lurking in the corners. Maybe he was.

"Neal, you're safe now. No one is going to hurt you anymore," Peter promised. He hated the 'anymore' to that, but at least the younger man was safe now.

Neal's eyes finally settled on Peter. He looked so scared and unsure. He looked so impossibly young.

"Peter?" Neal croaked past his cracked lips.

"I'm here, buddy. I'm here," Peter said as he moved closer to the ex-conman again.

Then Neal did something Peter didn't expect him to do - he smiled, wide and happy. "Found me," he slurred.

Peter nodded. "I always do." He carefully took Neal's hand in his, almost like he was afraid the younger man would fall apart if he was any less careful. Neal held onto Peter's hand with strength that the agent didn't think he had.

"'Bout damn time," he said, but there was no anger or resentment in his voice, like there should've been. He was still smiling, like he didn't have a care in the world. Peter hoped it would last, but he doubted it would. His memories would come back and he'd remember the hell he had gone through for a month. Peter shoved those thoughts away for the time being. Neal needed him now.

"How long was I...?" Neal asked, trailing off, not wanting to finish the question, but Peter understood what he was asking.

"A month," Peter said with difficulty.

Neal nodded and looked away, processing the information. He looked back at Peter after a minute. "Did you think I ran?" he asked. He didn't sound angry or accusing, just curious.

The guilt hit Peter again, but he tried not to show it. Peter didn't want to lie to him, not now, and he also knew that it was next to impossible to lie to the conman anyway. "The thought might have crossed my mind," he said a little teasingly, wanting to make light of the situation.

Neal smiled again. "Old habits die hard," he said.

"Yours or mine?" Peter asked.

Neal shrugged. "Maybe a little bit of both." He looked over to the window for a moment, then back to Peter. "When can I leave?" he asked.

"You just got here, so I suspect that they won't let you go until you can at least walk a straight line," Peter said.

"I don't remember trying, so how could they possibly know?" Neal asked lightly, but Peter saw the question in his eyes.

"The pneumonia, broken ribs and healing leg are pretty good indicators," Peter told him with a lightness that he didn't feel.

Neal's smile didn't even falter and that made Peter wonder what exactly they had the younger man on, and if he could maybe get some.

"Well, I'm tired anyway," Neal said as he relaxed into the pillows some more.

"Get some sleep, Neal. I'll be here when you wake up," Peter said softly. Neal closed his eyes and the younger man was soon oblivious to the world around him as he slept soundly for the first time in far too long.

WCWCWCWC

Peter was still sitting with Neal the next time he woke up. He had been making phone calls to update everyone on Neal's condition and to keep up to date on the investigation. He wanted to help catch the man behind all of this, but Hughes wouldn't let that happen.

Right after Peter got off of the phone with Elizabeth, Neal's eyes pinched shut as he grasped the bedsheets in a death grip. Then his back arched off of the bed a little, as if he was in pain. A cry escaped his throat, raw and thick.

Peter untangled one of Neal's hands from the blankets and gave it a slight squeeze. Neal squeezed back. "Neal? Hey, Neal. It's me, Peter," Peter said, trying to get Neal to focus. "You're okay. You're safe now."

"Don't know," Neal whispered urgently, shaking his head.

"What don't you know, Neal?" Peter asked, confused.

"Don't know," he said again, but louder and sounding more upset. It almost sounded like he was pleading.

"It's okay, Neal. It's okay. Whatever you don't know, it's okay," Peter soothed.

Neal continued to repeat the same two words over and over. Peter suspected that Neal was having a nightmare caused by his recent experiences - he thought that he was being asked for information again. The thought twisted at Peter's insides.

The agent tried to wake Neal by shaking him gently. "Hey, Neal, it's only a dream. You're safe now. Wake up, buddy," he said, trying to get Neal to come back to reality.

Neal flinched away from Peter's touch, but when the agent started talking he immediately stopped his mantra.

"That's it, Neal. Can you open your eyes?" Peter asked.

After a moment, Neal obeyed. He looked around nervously, then he looked at Peter. He seemed to calm instantly, but he was still very tense. "Where is he?" he asked as he started looking around again.

"Who?" Peter asked, but he had a sinking suspicion that he knew.

"Him," Neal said, like it was obvious.

"He's not here, Neal. You're safe now. He's not going to hurt you anymore," Peter said.

"Can you keep watch? Make sure we know when he comes back?" Neal asked, either not hearing Peter or ignoring him. "I'm just so tired. I don't know how much longer I can stay awake."

Peter nodded. "I'll keep watch, I'll make sure he doesn't hurt you," he said, not sure what else to say.

"Thank you," Neal said, sounding more than relieved. He closed his eyes and fell asleep moments later. Knowing that Peter was watching over him must have been enough to make him think that he was safe enough to rest.

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