Thank you for the reviews. J I know it's been a very long time since I've updated any of my stories. It's been a busy time for me—graduated college, moved to a new city, blah blah. Anyhow, here is a chapter. I kind of took it an odd direction at the end. Hopefully it's acceptable—can be seen as a vivid dream or a true.. well.. just read. Just read!

***

When the door comes crashing down, Peter doesn't hear it.
Diana's throat voice fails to cut through his tunnel vision.
Neal's blood has dried on his hands, the putrid coppery smell invading his senses, his smell, hell, he can taste it. It's tainting his hands. It seems almost symbolic that he has to pry Neal's hand from his, that they're stuck together.

He never looks away from Neal, never says a word. He watches as they load him onto a stretcher. He rises next to Neal, not even questioning the arrangement because he will ride with Neal. With shaking legs, he follows into the ambulance, never once acknowledging Diana, efficient Diana, who is busily securing the scene and beginning the write-ups.

They're in the ambulance now, and Neal's eyes are moving rapidly beneath his bruised-looking lids. Peter finally finds his voice. "Stay, Neal. I'm not leaving you. Don't you leave me."

He looks to a paramedic. "His eyes."

"It's not… this isn't a favorable situation," the paramedic informs. "He could be in stages of.." Something in Peter's look stops the paramedic from finishing his statement. "He could be in a dream."

"Is he coming to? Is he waking up?" Peter implores. Because Neal's eyes, he could be waking up.
"No, sir. I'm afraid he isn't." The paramedic is about to say more when a shrill beeping fills the ambulance, and Peter feels the blood drain from his face.

***

He's never been one for out-of-body experiences; a belief in them seemed much more down Mozzie's street than his. That isn't to say he didn't believe in the unexplainable. While Neal didn't fancy himself a man of God, he came close to believing in a higher power with each glimpse into Kate's eyes, with the way those brilliant orbs would focus in on him, with the way he could feel her heart racing when he held her close… That belief had diminished greatly when he'd seen her obliterated before him, when clouds of ash, of plane, of Kate, had rained down him.

Yet here he is, perched next to Peter. He's never seen Peter's eyes so big, his pupils so dark. It's okay, he tries to say, but he can't speak. He has no breath to talk. Neal wonders if this is a dream, a semi-consciousness that is preparing him for death, but he doubts that he could conger up such a raw sadness; he knows that, while he is an artist, he could never paint the scene as it's presented itself. Because to see Peter affected so deeply.. it's more than he could ever imagine. And yeah, he doesn't want to die, he wants to live, but he just can't find it in himself to regret his decision.

Neal hears a beeping sound, and Peter's face goes white, whiter than he's ever seen it. He hears sounds, a buzzing, a humming. He feels a shiver to his left. He turns.

Kate.