Two hours later.

The doctor, a slender woman with wild blonde hair and dark blue eyes, tells him he had a panic attack. Preposterous. He was just a little dizzy, which is, considering the circumstances, perfectly understandable.

Peter tries to rise from his bed, but the doctor keeps him firmly in place. She's definitely stronger than she looks.

"You should rest a little longer."

"I don't need to rest. I'm fine," he tells her, harsher than intended.

She narrows her eyes at him. "You're most certainly not fine, Agent Burke!"

"In comparison to my partner I am." Peter snaps. His patience is wearing thin. "He was shot! I need to see him immediately!"

He manages to sit up this time.

Whether the doctor likes it or not, he is going to see Neal.

Jones, who has been watching the exchange silently until now, obviously recognizes the resolute expression on Peter's face and decides to step in.

"I'll keep an eye on him," he offers.

The doctor seems slightly appeased. "I take your word for this, Agent Jones. Anxiety attacks are not to be underestimated."

Jones nods. "We'll keep that in mind. Thank you, doctor."

They don't talk as they walk across the emergency room, past overworked nurses and upset patients. Each agent is immersed in his own thoughts.

When they finally arrive at their destination, Peter is greeted by his distraught wife.

Elizabeth immediately throws her arms around him and snivels, "Thank God, you're okay."

Peter is glad he was prudent enough to wash his hands and change into different clothing. The dark jacket with the bold yellow letters may attract attention, but it's still less conspicuous and unsettling than the alternative.

Peter presses El's tiny frame against his chest and buries his face in her hair. She's his safe haven through every storm, physical or emotional. For a moment he allows himself to indulge in her comforting presence before he kisses her on top of her head and pulls away.

"What did I miss? How is he?" The questions are directed at Diana, who sits on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs with Neal's hat resting on her lap. She was the one who stayed with Neal while Peter was... indisposed.

"He flatlined. Twice. First in the hotel, then in the ambulance. But they managed to revive him," Diana explains. "Right now he's in emergency surgery. We have to wait for further information."

So they wait, each of them dealing with the situation in their own way, while Elizabeth takes care of them. She supplies them with coffee and snacks. Nobody gets anything down, but they all appreciate the effort.

After about half an hour of stillness, Peter starts to pace back and forth, from one end of the room to the other, with his eyes glued to the doors that separate surgical ward and public area. Neal is behind those doors, fighting for his life.

Peter feels Jones' eyes following his every movement. He pointedly ignores it, but the monitoring still angers him. He's not the one Jones should worry about. He's fine.

Mozzie is staring as well, but his gaze is directed at the blank wall. He has not uttered a single word since he arrived, not even to express his dislike for hospitals. Peter vaguely remembers that Neal reacted similarly on the day Mozzie was shot.

"Please sit down and eat something, Peter! You look awfully pale," El pleads and Peter relents. He doesn't want her to worry any more about him than she already does.

Diana fidgets nervously and tugs on the hem of her blouse, as Peter takes the seat across from her. She looks miserable. Only now he realizes that she never had the chance to change her clothing. She still wears her bloodstained pantsuit. Peter swallows and looks away.

After what felt like an eternity, a scrub-clad man heads towards the waiting area. Peter jumps from his chair and meets the doctor halfway, with Elizabeth firmly by his side. She clasps his hand. Out of the corner of his eyes Peter sees the rest of their group rising from their seats.

"Family of Neal Caffrey?" the doctor asks and studies the crowd that has gathered around Peter.

Peter clears his throat, "I'm Special Agent Peter Burke. Neal Caffrey's my partner."

"We are his family," El interposes.

The doctor nods. "I'm Dr. Bomer, Agent Caffrey's emergency surgeon."

Peter almost smiles. Agent Caffrey. Neal would love that.

"As you may know, Mr. Caffrey sustained a severe gunshot wound to...," Dr. Bomer spouts a lot of medical mumbo jumbo like "abdominal vascular injury" and "refractory hemorrhagic shock". Peter doesn't really listen to him. The grave look on Bomer's face tells him all he needs to know.

Neal is gone.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

Dr. Bomer offers his commiserations in a soft, practiced voice, that consists of an odd mixture of appeasement, professional detachment and genuine compassion. It's a voice Peter himself used more times than he cares to count, and all the same he never realized how hollow it sounded.

He thinks he's going to be sick again.

The doctor gives them a final nod and another "My deepest condolences!" before he hastens away from the misery. Peter can emphasize with the surgeon about that. The only thing that keeps him from bolting as well is Elizabeth's firm grip. She clutches his arm so hard it's painful, while she sobs into his chest.

"I think...," his voice is rough. He clears his throat. "I think we should sit down."

Peter steers her back to the chairs, where Diana and Jones whisper softly to each other. Jones hand rests on Diana's knee, while she clings to the hat in her lap like it is a lifeline.

El takes a few breaths to calm herself. "Oh Peter! Neal... what... I can't believe..."

"Shhh... It's alright, honey. I'm here." He puts an arm around her shaking frame and strokes her hair.

Mozzie plants himself in front of Peter and darts him a murderous look.

"This is your fault," he seethes. "And you know it! You constantly endangered his life without a second thought."

Peter doesn't have it in him to object. He's tired and shocked, and deep down there's a part of him that agrees with the little man.

"He's dead, Suit!"

Peter winces.

"Dead and gone, because of you!"

"Mozzie-" El tries.

"First you robbed him of his freedom, then of his free will and now finally of his life. You-"

"Mozzie, I think this is enough," Elizabeth cuts in. Her voice sounds surprisingly strong.

Mozzie darts a final withering glance at them before he turns around and leaves without another word.

"He didn't mean it," El assures Peter. "He's hurt. Hurt people lash out."

He shakes his head and sighs. "I know."

Mozzie was right though. Neal was... gone because of him. It was Peter's responsibility, his duty, as an agent and as a friend to keep Neal out of harm's way. To protect him.

Peter failed and Neal paid the ultimate price.