The hardest part about exiting the van was the stupid door release they had mentioned fixing a hundred times before. In fact, Peter had mentioned it in the office that very morning when the Chief had shaken his hand and wished him luck on the operation. Bring in the van for service after the op., that was the chief had said. After the op.

Peter's useless fingers fumbled with the door latch even as the echoes of the gunshot bounced around his brain. He'd been unconsciously screaming Neal's name with no response for the past 5 seconds as he tried to claw his way out of the van. Other voices were crowding the com link now and the door finally spilled Peter out onto the street. The only thought in his head was to reach Neal and as fast as he could and Peter took off at a dead run in the same direction Neal disappeared just minutes ago. He was the first on the scene but the howl of police sirens told him that backup was not far behind. Peter scanned the area and saw nothing other than a prone figure near the garden entrance. His stomach gave a sickening lurch at the bowler hat laying inches from the fallen man. It couldn't be Neal, it just couldn't.

"Neal?!" Peter, throwing caution and protocol to the wind, ran up beside the man lying on the concrete and fell to his knees beside him. Neal's head was turned away from Peter and he carefully cupped the CI's cheek and turned his head, searching for those piecing blue eyes. But Neal's eyes weren't open. He was unconscious, his skin was ashy and his chest was laboriously rising and falling with great difficulty due to a gunshot wound almost perfectly positioned in the center of his chest. Peter ripped Neal's Armani shirt at the buttons and then used the bloody entrance torn in his undershirt to pull the cloth away from the wound. Peter had seen his fair share of gunshot wounds, had even been on the receiving end of one once, but nothing prepared him for what he saw. The hole in Neal's chest was seeping blood up and out of his body at an alarming rate. Peter shrugged out of his jacket as quickly as his quaking body would allow, balled the material up and pressed it into the wound. Neal moaned pathetically, a small stream of blood trickled from the side of his mouth and then Neal stopped breathing.

"Shit, Neal! Don't you do this to me, buddy. Don't you give up!" Peter pleaded to his friend. Jones was beside him now, and put a reassuring hand on Peter's shoulder. Jones titled Neal's head back and pushed air into his lungs. Blood seeped from around Peter's jacket but Neal's chest rose and fell. Just like they had been taught, Jones would breath for Neal and Peter would keep the pressure on the wound and it wasn't until the paramedics pried Peter away from Neal that they stopped. It was out of his hands now and Peter watched with a feeling of detachment as the paramedic covered Neal's face with a mask and shocked him with the defibrillator until a weak heartbeat awoke on their monitors. There was nothing to do afterwards but follow the ambulance to the hospital.

Jones drove and it was quiet. Peter absentmindedly used a towel one of the paramedics offered him to clean the stubborn blood that had stained his hands. Neal's blood. Oh, God. How were they going to get out of this one?

Hours later, Peter found himself pacing the length of the ER waiting room with Elizabeth dozing in an uncomfortable chair and Jones speaking with an old acquaintance on the nursing staff, trying to get more information on Neal's condition. They had taken him in immediately for surgery and Peter had been left to sit and wonder if his friend, his partner really, would make it through the next few hours. Jones returned to his seat, obviously with no new news and Peter decided he needed some air. He kissed Elizabeth lightly on the forehead and told her where he would be. She knew he needed space and did not offer to follow but promised to call him if anything happened while he was away. Back out in the open space of the hospital parking lot Peter felt as if he could breathe again and tears came unbidden to his eyes. Tucked behind an ambulance in the bay, he let hours of worry and anger bubble over and Peter Burke began to cry.