Again, this story is dedicated to ArmedWithAComputer who hath requested it. (Sorry your request was answered with a sad/angsty fic rather than comedic fluff, but I'm glad you still like it)

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Running

Chapter 2:

The images dissolved and the darkness lifted.

The laughter faded and was replaced by the serious thrum of urgent voices. Sirens assaulted his ears that had previously enjoyed the sounds of wine glasses clinking against each other. The feeling slowly returned to his fingers and the sensation crept along his arms and legs. He became conscious to the cold around him. Neal could feel the hard ground digging into his back although something slightly softer pillowed his head.

The light didn't recede from behind his close lids and he finally gave up trying to escape the glare.

Neal opened his eyes blearily and blinked several times to adjust his tired eyes to the sunlight that streamed down from the blue sky. Despite the heat from the rays, a cold wind blew and Neal felt the faintest pricks of water hitting his face.

He tried to sit up to see where he was and what was happening around him but his head screamed in protest and his stiff back prevented him from moving too much. His head plopped back onto a hastily folded jacket.

He released a low moan in discomfort.

"Neal?" a worried voice asked.

Neal forced his eyes to open once more and he focused meekly on a face hovering over his own. Slowly, he started to make out the familiar features of the face.

"Peter?" he asked in a rustic voice.

Peter released a relieved sigh and bowed his head in thanks for a moment before returning his gaze to Neal.

"Yeah," he answered gently.

"I fell asleep."

"Yeah."

"Was I dreaming?"

"I think so."

"Oh," Neal said sadly. He rubbed his eyes with one hand but realized that the other was currently preoccupied.

He looked to his side to see that his hand was firmly grasping Peter's. The agent's fingers were wrapped gently over his hand. Conscious of the act, Neal released his grip and wiggled out of Peter's.

"Sorry," he said with a soft shade of pink tinting his cheeks. "I was dreaming about…" His sentence faded as the memory of the dream flickered in his head.

"Kate," he said suddenly and then looked to Peter, a smile pulling at his lips. "Peter, where's Kate. Is she around?"

Peter's face fell so abruptly and into such a pained expression that Neal's own smile dropped. Emotion swirled in those brown eyes as Peter looked away.

"Peter?" Neal asked softly, not liking the agent's quiet response.

"I'm so sorry." Peter whispered.

Neal didn't understand. Kate had gotten off the plane with him. Where was she?

An explosion.

The memory resurfaced into his mind and the image made his head pound. He could feel the heat of the explosion; feel the power of it as it slammed into his back and knocked him to the ground. He could see the flames, burning.

Neal jackknifed into a sitting position, ignoring the pain that seared in his head.

"Neal, you shouldn't move," Peter said, the concern back in his voice as he moved to ease the younger man back onto the ground.

But Neal refused. He pushed against Peter, his eyes staring unbelieving at the glowing mass of metal where a plane used to be. Firemen still sprayed the metal and the surrounding area with water, the wind blowing stray drops into Neal's face. The water mixed with the tears that spilled down his cheeks.

"No!" Neal screamed in a heart-wrenching tone. He clawed at the arm Peter braced across his chest and the agent held him as Neal screamed in protest and cried his anguish.

The plane was gone. He remembered now. It had exploded, with Kate in it. He had screamed in the same way he was now and had tried to run to the burning mass but Peter had held him back. Exhausted and knowing there was nothing he could do, Neal had fallen to his knees to watch the plane burn and crumble in on itself. Peter had called for the police and firemen. They had come quickly enough but Neal already knew that no one could have survived the explosion. Peter had led him away and then at some time he must have simply passed out.

But he was awake now.

In his dream, he had told Peter that he was tired of running. But he had unconsciously tried to run again. He should have known that he could never run from the truth before his eyes.

Kate was dead.

Neal allowed his hoarse cries to recede to sobs. He fell against Peter and buried his face into the agent's shoulder; trembling hands gripping the back of Peter's suit. Peter held him and stayed silent, rubbing the man's back apologetically.

"She's gone," Neal murmured.

"I'm sorry," Peter replied in a voice only audible to Neal.

And this time Neal didn't mind running away. It may have been that he was running in a wide loop that was sure to drop him off right where he had started: back at the scene of Kate's death and the destruction of his last hope to be with the woman he loved. But he would run now.

And he was still running. He had run straight for the man that could provide the only comfort, even it was just a pat on the back and a sympathetic silence.

He would run from the truth just a little longer because the truth felt so far away while he was here in his friend and partner's embrace. It felt safe.

He would stop running later. For now, he just wanted to slip off back into the comforting darkness of sleep while in the arms of the man he trusted.

The laughter continued and El brought out dessert. Neal looked to his side and Kate beamed back at him, her fingers once again entwined with his.

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Thank you for your reviews. They – and you all – are what make writing so damn great.

Hobey-Ho