Ah. Perhaps, unlike Neal, I cannot tell a lie: I was disappointed at the end of the season closer. I understand the canon mentality that says these two characters can never fully trust each other, but at the same time… well. I was disappointed at the total breakdown in communication once more. I suppose I hoped they were beyond that.

With that in mind, I wanted some closure for myself – to last until the summer, anyway - and not being sure where all this is heading, this was all I could find. Opinions, as ever, welcome.

oOo

UNDER THE RADAR: WHAT DREAMS MAY COME

oOo

Neal ambled in a daze up the stairs to his apartment, still in shock, although a part of him was fuming. All the riches in the world, it seemed, and he had the key. Amazing. There were a lot of decisions to be made in the next few days - but right now, there was a numbing buzz running through his brain, making him incapable of clear thought.

Adler had nearly killed him… the man who supposedly saw him as a son, the man who made him what he was today, nearly put a bullet through him. Not much irony there. And it was Peter, of course, Peter the brave, Peter the noble, Peter the quick-to-condemn, who had saved his life. Peter, who had captured him, befriended him, and protected him, kept him alive again – in time to accuse him of betrayal once more.

I wonder if I'll ever really get him to trust me…

He poured a glass of Shiraz after hiding the key rather automatically, and sat back on the sofa, staring out the window as the sky over New York slowly turned from misty blue to the pearly charcoal gray that passed for night in a city that doesn't sleep. He felt cold, a little shaky, and knew that the shock of the last two days - the physical and emotional beating he had experienced, was taking its toll. The beating we had. His partner had gotten into the limo with him… wouldn't leave him stranded. Wouldn't stay behind when he needed help disarming the sub. I wonder how Peter is holding up. He hates having to shoot… Immediately annoyed with his own emotions for betraying him with sympathy, he tipped his glass back to empty it, and refilled it unconsciously. He coughed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and drank again.

Probably not the most healthy way to go, but who cares? Diana had said he should get checked over, after everything that had happened, from the explosion to being nearly shot – but he had walked away, anxious to get away from the scene of destruction, anger, death… distrust…

Somehow his glass was empty again, as was the bottle. He staggered to the kitchen counter, picked up a bottle of Pinot, stared blearily at the label. No. He put it down firmly, the noise ringing in the large room. Elizabeth and Peter gave me that one, after the last case… said they were so proud… drawing a ragged breath, he snatched another bottle blindly, opened it, and filled his glass again. Somehow he found his way back to the couch, pulling a throw over him as he set the wine on the coffee table. He blinked, the room fading to black as his consciousness ebbed.

o:o:o

In a blurry, cock-eyed version of reality, he stood facing his old boss. The steel barrel of Adler's gun yawned like an abstract, hungry mouth in his line of sight, blocking everything else. Neal felt, more than heard, the cocking mechanism slide a bullet into the chamber. In a topsy-turvy perspective, he saw inside the barrel, saw the slug, saw his name on it.

He shuddered, even in his sleep, his body pulling the blanket closer fitfully.

In his dream he lifted his hands in a futile effort to stop the inevitable… when abruptly, a voice called out. "Adler. Drop it. It's over." Relief poured through Neal's veins as he realized his partner was there, had it in control, had –

Adler spun impossibly fast, his image shattering into a thousand spiraling pieces only to coalesce again with the gun pointing at Special Agent Peter Burke. In stop-action animation, Neal saw the name on the lump of lead change. "Only over for you, Burke." He saw Adler's trigger finger squeeze down -

"No!" The gun went off and Neal began running, watching in slow motion as the slug penetrated the chest of his friend, blood spurting in a horrifying, unnatural way. Peter slumped to the ground, trying hopelessly to lift his gun to return fire. The weapon dropped from lifeless fingers as his left hand tried to cover the gaping hole in his chest, blood spilling hot across his hand, trickling sickly across a shining gold band. "Peter-" Neal ran frantically, unable to reach him, no matter how he tried. Stuck in amber, stuck in time. "Peter!"

Adler's laugh broke the world into fragments once more, and Neal turned to see his face, contorted in sick amusement. "Looks like you killed another one, Caffrey. Nice job."

And suddenly Neal was standing over his partner, dropping to his knees as he watched the life drain away. Brown eyes full of pain turned to see him, and Peter's hand reached out as he ground out a harsh whisper. "I trusted you."

Neal grabbed his hand, panic roaring through him like fire and ice. "Peter, no…" The agent pulled his hand away, and his eyes grew glassy, lost their focus.

Neal screamed.

o:o:o

The con man woke up with a jerk, blue eyes wild as his hands clutched hopelessly at his covers. He gasped a breath, then another, and ran his hands back through his sweat-matted hair. Slowly, he felt some grasp of reality returning. Pulling off the tangled blanket, he draped it across his shoulders against the chill he felt inside and stood, picking up his glass and taking a few shaky steps to look out the windows.

Dawn's gray light was beginning to seep into the night, and black clouds were squeezing out the first tears of a storm. He shivered, blinking out at the dawn, and took another breath. After years of being a loner, he never thought he would long for his partner's calm advice. If only my partner was calm. Resting his forehead against the cool glass, he stared, unsure, into the foreboding dark of a new day.

oOo

oOoOo

oOo

Diana drove her boss home, taking her time. It was procedure. After the debriefing, after scheduling with the departmental counselor, after spending a little quiet time with your boss - someone drove you home. In the FBI, you didn't kill a man and then go out for drinks to celebrate.

Peter considered himself lucky. He could still count the number of men he'd shot – no, be honest with yourself, Burke – the number of men he'd killed on one hand. Adler was scum and then some, but still…

"You need to stop for anything, Peter?" Diana's voice was soft, soothing.

I wonder if I've ever told her that. Maybe tomorrow.

"No. Thanks."

They drove in silence, New York quieting down for the night after a big day. Diane glanced at her boss out of the corner of her eye and took a deep breath, fought back a sigh. Such a good man. She wanted to say something, anything to comfort him, but words were not forthcoming. Finally, after they stopped in front of the Burke house and she got out and came around the car to see him in, she softly touched his arm. "You did what you had to do, Peter."

He stared at the sidewalk for a long moment. When he looked up, she recognized his most professionally polite expression. "Thank you, Diana. And thanks for the ride."

"Peter…"

He forced a somewhat more natural grin, brushed his hand over her shoulder, nodded, and walked up the steps to where his wife stood, waiting.

Elizabeth had of course gotten the call from Hughes about what happened. It was only fair for her to know what was going on, and to be ready for the emotional backwash, when and if it came. She opened the door, walked him inside, and held him tightly. At first, he stiffened unnaturally in her arms, but after a few moments, when she didn't let go, he relaxed, dropping his head to her shoulder. Her hands rubbed his back, quietly waiting. Finally, he spoke.

"I'm really tired, El."

She pulled back to look at him, and smiled sadly. "I know, sweetheart. Come on."

He walked upstairs slowly to change into something softer, something more comfortable. Something that didn't make him think of work quite so much. Something that wasn't a suit. Elizabeth went with him, and they made small talk about the dog and her work until they were sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace. Then the conversation tapered off abruptly, and she let him settle for a moment.

"Reese said you had to talk to the counselor -"

"Yeah. I'm fine. 'Responding within expected parameters for the situation'. Gave me a clean bill."

"Just you?" She knew from his expression that she had stepped into dangerous waters. "And how's Neal?"

"I have no idea." He stared at the coffee table in front of them, and his expression darkened. She waited. Over the course of the next half hour, he told her the whole story, how they had traveled to the collection of warehouses, began the search. How he had kept Neal out of them, just in case, to keep him safe. He got as far as hearing the explosions on the dock. As far as firing his weapon. As far as realizing Neal might have planned the biggest con of them all, one that was two years in the making.

Then he stopped.

Elizabeth nodded, running her hand over the back of his head and down his shoulders. "Okay. It's okay, Peter."

"No, it's not. I can't believe I let him play me again. I can't believe he's used me, all this time, just to pull this heist. But I guess billions of dollars are more important than –"

His wife stopped him, her voice a little shocked. "Peter… this is Neal you're talking about."

"Exactly."

She shook her head in disbelief. "But you know you can trust him on the important things."

Peter barked something that might have been a laugh. "It's not that simple, El. It's very, very possible that for the year and a half we've been working together, he's been setting this up. All of it. Yes, all this time."

Elizabeth spoke gently. "But it can't be that complicated, either. Come on, Peter. It's Neal. Are you going to tell me that you wouldn't have been able to tell, after all this time working so closely, that he wasn't on your side? Are you seriously trying to tell me that you wouldn't have felt it in your gut?" Peter put a hand over his eyes wearily, and she rubbed his back. "I'm sorry, but you're a better agent than that. A wiser man."

"No, it's all right. You're right, too. I'm not that stupid. I hope I'm not… I just don't know what to think…" His face fell, and he stared down at the floor. "El…there's something else."

"Yes?" She could feel him growing unsteady, and waited.

He shifted uncomfortably, stopped, shook his head. "I shot Adler in the back."

"Oh, honey…" She pulled him closer and he leaned into her, his face pressed against her neck as she rocked him gently. "What a horrible decision to have to make. But you know it was the right one. He would have killed Neal."

He took a shaky breath. "I wish I was sure. Of something."

For a time they sat on the couch. Then they moved upstairs, neither one hungry enough to eat. As they moved to lay on the bed together, Elizabeth felt Peter's breathing slowly settle as he drifted into exhausted slumber. She remained close beside him, keeping watch, unable to sleep herself.

o:o:o

Images came crashing over his mind in waves, like a horror movie made personal. A garden path, walking to meet with someone who was conspicuously not there. The turn in his gut when he got the call. A gun in a limo, casually insisting that he drink. Blackness, dizziness. A war beaten submarine, ridiculously large out of its natural environment. The images swirled to a halt, leaving him dizzy.

Abruptly, he and Neal were leaning over an open deck, staring at antique wiring. His partner looked at him, suddenly serious.

"Peter, if this doesn't work…"

He looked up, made sincere contact with those eyes, felt the immense history rush between them. Felt the care, the concern. The trust. Partners. Friends. Brothers. There was nothing else to say. "Me too."

Peter shifted in his sleep and Elizabeth took his hand. He moaned softly as his fingers twined between hers, and she brushed his hair back from his forehead. She whispered, "It's alright, sweetheart. I'm here. You're safe."

Explosions. Gray clouds rising in the still air. Peter began to run. He ran until his breath came in ragged gasps, until his legs ached with the exertion. Turning a corner he saw, towering above the warehouses, the Chrysler building, burning. Suspicion sang through him as he looked back to the door of a warehouse, saw two men in suits. He looked up again at the tall building in flames, wanting desperately to find a way to save it- and looked down again, as one man pointed a gun threateningly at the other. He heard Neal's voice, tried to aim…

His vision blurred, the heat of the massive, burning building causing waves in the air. He blinked, shot – and the man fell dead. Running forward, Peter holstered his gun and rolled the body over with the toe of his shoe.

A few black curls fell down over unseeing blue eyes, still brilliant in death. The agent dropped to his knees, unbelieving.

Peter cried out.

o:o:o

"Neal."

Flashing brown eyes jerked open with a gasp, scaring Elizabeth more than his cry had. "Peter?"

Her husband blinked wildly, looking around their bedroom as if he'd never seen it.

"Peter, wake up. It was a dream."

Special Agent Peter Burke panted like he had been running, slowly caught his breath and focused on his wife. "Elizabeth…" He grabbed her as if she were his only hope of sanity.

"It's alright, Peter. It's alright." She made soothing noises as she held him. "Tell me what happened. I'm here."

Peter clung to her for long minutes as he tried to calm himself. Even so, his voice cracked when he spoke. "I shot him."

"Adler?" she asked, softly.

"No," he whispered. "Neal. I shot him. I shot him in the back. As if he were the scumbag... I didn't mean to." His hand pushed back through his hair, fitfully. "I swear… I didn't mean to…" He was so exhausted that he felt himself, albeit fearfully, lapsing into sleep once more.

"Oh, sweetheart… it was a dream. Just a dream." She blinked back her tears, smoothing his hair. "I'm right here. Everything will be okay. I promise."

Peter shifted to rest his head on El's shoulder, letting her hold him together. Through his exhaustion his mumbled, "He's got to tell me what happened… he just has to..."

Elizabeth stroked his head until she felt him drift off again. Lying with him, knowing she would be awake until morning, she exhaled a breath she didn't know she had been holding. Softly she whispered into her husband's hair. "I know he will, Peter. I know it will all make sense, soon."

Deep in her heart, she hoped she was right.

oOo

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