"We can't take her to the hospital," Peter said decidedly, sitting in the back of an ambulance and watching the EMT's carefully, "they're drug dealers. There're too many variables and too many ways they could get a lethal dose of something illegal into her IV. I'll take her back home with me; can we borrow a surgeon from the Navy Jones?"

"I'll get on it…probably be a good twelve hours though," the younger man replied.

"Does she have twelve hours?" Peter asked the medics.

"Absolutely sir. She's not unstable. She's strong and young so she'll heal fairly quickly. She'll need monitoring with pulse ox for a good twenty four hours, then oxygen…" a look of panic crossed Peter's face when he thought about putting their traumatized asset on a ventilator, "not a ventilator Agent Burke, just oxygen and only for a few days. After that it'll be lots of antibiotics, some strong pain meds and a rather unimaginable amount of therapy I'd guess."

"You can keep her stable until I get things settled then take her to my place?" Peter asked.

"Like I said, sir. She's real beat up, but she'll be fine," the medic replied calmly.

"Just…don't…don't put restraints on her…no matter what…unless she risks hurting herself more. You guys recognize those scars on her wrists and ankles…we don't need to bring that memory back."

"We promise sir."

Neal sat on his balcony, chewing a paintbrush and nursing his third glass of bourbon. He was just getting up to pour a fourth ill-considered glass when the phone rang. Grabbing the receiver he picked it up before the first ring had finished. It was Peter.

"She's okay. He's not," Peter said.

"What's okay and what's not okay?" Neal asked, pouring another bourbon just in case.

"She's hurt and traumatized, but she'll make a full recovery in four to six weeks. He's dead."

"Okay. What hospital did they take her to?" Neal wondered aloud, hoping he would be allowed to visit.

"None. Jones got a favor from a friend at the Navy…we've got a surgeon and a medic staying at my place keeping an eye on her. Risk putting her in a hospital was too high."

"Risk for what?"

"We didn't take down the whole cartel. There were only five of them there."

"So she's still in danger."

"You could say that."

"Can I come see her?" Neal's voice was taking on a frantic edge.

"You sure? She's in quite a state, I can tell you…"

"I need to see her. This is my fault…" Neal interrupted him, but Peter interrupted back.

"This is a lot of things but it's not your fault. Not that it matters now who's fault it is. Important part is, she's going to be fine. And yeah, come visit her any time, we can't get her to stop crying, maybe your charms will help."

He took a deep breath before knocking on the Burke's door. He needed to see Bea, but he wasn't entirely sure if he was mentally prepared.

Elizabeth let him in, her eyes sad but her mouth attempting a smile.

"Just remember…she'll get better," El promised, squeezing his shoulder before letting him into the guest bedroom.

Beatrice was curled on her side, her wrists and ribcage wrapped in bandages, an IV protruding from the crook of one arm, a tube for oxygen hooked around her ear. But that wasn't the bad part. Those were just medical accouterments, things it was easy to look past. The part he couldn't get past were the bruises that dappled her skin, black and green against her honey and cream flesh. The part he couldn't get past was the line of blood that still trickled from a cut on her hairline, pooling in the hollow behind her ear, tangling with her ebony hair. The part he couldn't get past was the fact that she was sobbing.

He knelt down beside her instantly, glancing at Peter, the surgeon and the medic to make sure he wasn't doing something wrong. They all nodded in encouragement, but their faces stayed grave. Neal stretched out a hand and stroked Beatrice's face, brushing a strand of bloody hair away from her beautiful green eyes – clamped tight now with pain and fear. At his touch her eyes fluttered open and she gazed at him for a long moment, then she started to still, started to register where she was and who he was.

"Neal?" she breathed, reaching for him, somehow managing to sit up through the pain, collapsing into his arms.

"What happened to her?" he mouthed as Bea curled into him, her whole body shuddering, clinging to him, her finger's tracing the curve of his neck, the line of his shoulders, as though trying to confirm he was real.

"Quite a lot," Peter replied, then gestured for Neal to follow him.