I don't own White Collar, or any of the characters. I'm just having a little fun with them until January!

Chapter Three

Peter would have yelled at Diana for entering his office without knocking if he hadn't been so tired. It was 10 am, they were nearing 36 hours since Neal had disappeared, and he hadn't had any sleep. When it had started snowing at midnight, Peter had been frantic. If Neal was out in the weather, there was no way he could survive. Now, he felt hopeless. Organize Crime had been no help. The few leads they were able to offer up hadn't turned up anything. They had searched more than 10 buildings, and countless dirt lots, but they still came back empty handed. Peter desperately wanted to arrest Ricky Gallo, but they had nothing. He wanted to strangle the very life out of the man. He shook his head to clear his mind, and turned his bloodshot eyes towards Diana.

"Tell me you have something."

"NYPD called." Her face was sullen. Peter felt his breath hitch and he braced his hands against the desk.

"They found a body matching Caffrey's description out at Old Howard Beach."

"A body?"

"First Responders weren't on scene yet. We don't know anything. The team's heading out that way."

Diana had to run to keep up with her boss as he descended the stairs two at a time and headed for the elevators.

The area was congested with ambulances, fire trucks, and police cruisers when Peter pulled his Taurus into the parking lot at the marina. He didn't wait for Diana, or the rest of his team before running to the police barricade.

"I'm sorry sir, you can't be in here."

"Peter Burke. FBI." He flashed his badge as he ducked under the yellow crime tape.

As he reached the backside of the ambulance the EMT's were just approaching with the stretcher. Peter looked down at the young man. One leg of his charcoal slacks was now stained burgundy. Blood had dried in little rivers down both sides of his face. The right side of his face was swollen, and multiple shades of blue, green, and yellow were starting to appear. His near black hair was matted down, and little balls of blood soaked snow clung to it. Under the oxygen mask, Peter could see that his lips were blue.

"Neal…" Peter felt like he had swallowed a brick. The young man, who had become like family to him, lay in front of him unconscious, and barely breathing.

"Sorry sir. We have to get him out of here." The EMT put an arm across Peter's chest in an effort to move him out of the way.

"I'm coming with you."

"Sorry sir. I can't…" Peter flipped out his badge again to stop the EMT.

"That man is my Partner. I'm going with him." Peter watched as an understanding smile crossed the older EMT's face.

A finger lightly brushed against Peter's hand as they loaded the stretcher onto the ambulance.

"P…tr…"

"I'm here Neal."

"new… f..nd..me."

"Yeah…I found you buddy. You're safe now."

Peter paced the ER waiting room. It had been nearly four hours since they had admitted Neal, and there still wasn't any word. Diana and the team were still at the marina trying to find evidence to tell them who had done this. So far, they had found nothing. Every time he had sat down to try and rest his eyes, the sight of Neal's blood covered face kept creeping back to him. The walls of this little room felt like they were closing in on him. He clenched his hands into fists to keep them from trembling. He wanted coffee desperately, but didn't dare leave and miss the doctor.

"Peter." Elizabeth's soft voice floated to him from across the room. "I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner. How's Neal?"

He didn't turn to face her, he wasn't sure he could look her in the eye. How could he tell her what had happened? What he had let happen?

"No news. Eliza…"

"It's alright Peter." He felt her hands softly on his shoulders, turning him to look at her. "This isn't your fault."

"I should have protected him El." His voice sounded strange to him. It was quite and weak.

"You couldn't have known, Peter."

Elizabeth wrapped her arms around him, and he buried his face in her long brown hair. It was good to have her here. He had longed for her comfort, her understanding. She was the only other person who knew what Neal had become to him, because she felt the same way. For so long, they had only had each other, and that had always been enough. But now there was Neal. The ex-con had wormed his way into their lives so completely; neither of them could imagine life without him.

Soft padded footsteps caught Peter's attention. He looked glassy-eyed over to the entrance of the room. Standing in the doorway was a man in blue scrubs, carefully drying his hands on a towel. He was young, Peter thought as he looked him over. His tawny brown hair was damp with sweat, but yet there was a calmness in his eye.

"I was told to look for Agent Peter Burke?" The man looked at Peter questioningly.

"That's me." Peter released Elizabeth from his arms, but kept one of her hands in his.

"I'm Dr. Matthews. I'm Neal's surgeon." The man waited until he saw Peter nod before continuing. "Let me start off by saying that Neal is now stable and in the I.C.U."

Peter nodded again, slowly lowering himself down into a nearby chair. The utter relief made way for the exhaustion to set in.

"Agent Burke, while he may be stable, Neal is still in critical condition. He had a 4 cm wide puncture wound between his 8th and 9th rib. Although it narrowly missed his liver, it did cause him to bleed out extensively. His right orbital socket is severely fractured, but there does not seem to be any injury to the eye itself. He had a depressed fracture to his frontal lobe and a 6 cm laceration above his right ear. His core temperature when he arrived in the ER was 86 degrees."

"What does that all mean?" It was Elizabeth that asked. Peter could not find his voice; he just sat staring at the doctor in shock.

"Well…basically…it's nothing short of a miracle that he is still alive. We have closed the wound in his side. He is being administered plasma to replace the lost blood, and raise his blood pressure. We have repaired the orbital socket as best we can, stitched the laceration, and lifted the fracture in his skull. We have been keeping warming blankets on him, and have raised his temperature to 94 degrees. He is being kept on a Morphine drip to control is pain level, but he is currently in a coma, most likely due to swelling in his brain, and he is on a ventilator to help him breathe.

"Alright. What does that mean?" It was Peter who spoke this time, his words laced with frustration.

"It means we've done all we can for now. These first twenty four hours are critical, but we won't know if there has been any brain damage until he wakes up."

Peter nodded, and let the information settle in. Brain damage. The phrase kept repeating itself in his mind. He couldn't think about it. He couldn't bear the thought of Neal being anything other than his normal annoying, self confident, narcissistic self.

"He's in room three in the I.C.U. Down the hall to your right, first left, and first right. Just past the elevators." The doctor nodded to Elizabeth, and excused himself.

"Honey, go see him." Peter felt Elizabeth gently rub a hand over his shoulders. "I'll get some coffee and meet you down there."

Peter hadn't been sure what to expect as he headed for the I.C.U. The doctor's words haunted him as he walked down the long, silent corridors. Now, as he stood in the doorway of Neal's room, he felt all his strength leave him at the sight of his partner, his friend. His hands were shaking again, and he shoved them in his pockets. A short, blonde nurse startled him as she came and stood in the doorway as well.

"You should go talk to him."

"What?" Peter turned his head so that he could see her.

"You should go talk to him. A lot of people believe that the coma patients can hear you, you know." She patted him gently on the arm, before quietly walking away.

Neal's head was bandaged with gauze, with another smaller bandage just under his right eye. The entire right side of his face had darkened into a deep purple-black bruise, and his right eye was swollen shut. A red nasal-gastric tube was taped into his nose. A bright blue plate sat over his mouth holding the ventilator tubing in position. Peter watched as his chest gently rose and fell in perfect rhythm with the sound of the pump that was breathing for him. A heart monitor gently beeped along in quite harmony. There were two IV bags hanging along with the bright red bag holding the plasma, and two tubes snaked their way down and into his right arm.

"He looks peaceful." Elizabeth saw her husband jump as she said it.

"I'm not sure I'd say peaceful…" Peter's voice trailed off as he forced himself to cross the room to Neal's bedside. He reached out and laid a hand on Neal's arm. "He's so cold."

"The doctor said it may be a few more hours before his body temperature gets back to normal." Elizabeth crossed the room to join her husband, setting the coffees down on the bedside table. "Peter, why don't you get some sleep, I'll sit with him for a little while."

"Thanks, Elle." Peter folded himself onto the sofa across from Neal's bed, and fell asleep listening to the beep of the heart monitor.