Angels & Airwaves

It wasn't a dock this time, but the shore line, the whitest sand he'd ever seen being graced by the bluest water and white, white all around. He stood on the beach just short of the wet sand the surf touched. Hands in his pockets, wind making his white shirt and dark hair dance, he watched the little girl playing in the water. She splashed the water high, the droplets sparkling like diamonds.

The girl turned and waved at him, giggling as she twirled and danced in the water. He smiled back at her. Something fluttered in his chest as he watched Kate, beautiful Kate dressed in white come up behind the girl and splash water on her. The girl giggled and the war was on. Neal laughed as he watched them in the water, but he never moved from the shore.

Suddenly, they stopped, Kate on her knees with wet hair clinging to her face, holding the girl with damp curls in front of her. They smiled at him, two beautiful faces caught forever in a moment of perfection. His heart stuttered when he saw their eyes, the same eyes staring back at him. He knew exactly who she was, that beautiful little girl and a part of him ached.

But there would always be there and they would always wait. So he blew them a kiss and turned on his heel to come back to here, where he was needed, where he belonged. If only until he could make it to there.

Three bruised ribs, one cracked, and one fractured wrist. At most, he would wear the cast for four weeks. The other injuries would fade over time, the bruises and breaks, but the pain was still going to be there.

"You found him, Peter. Don't be so hard on yourself."

Peter glanced at El and nodded, returning his gaze to Neal. The machines beeped and whooshed and made other noises he couldn't put a name to, but Neal still slept. El meant well. She only wanted to reassure him, make him ease the guilt off of his shoulders just a little. But nothing changed the fact that Neal was here solely because of him. His old case, his mistake, his bullet, his vendetta. And Neal was the one paying the price of a grudge six years old.

El kissed his cheek and headed home to feed and walk Satchmo. Peter sat and waited. What else was there to do? Processing the scene, collecting evidence, filling out paper work- it all seemed so pointless. What mattered was lying two feet in front of him connected to a dozen different machines as his body tried to recover at least as many injuries.

Skull fracture, severe concussion, laceration to the head requiring a dozen and a half stitches, knife wound in the right shoulder deflected off the bone also requiring a healthy amount of stitches, gunshot wound to the same shoulder requiring surgery to remove the bullet and too many stitches to count, and one broken left wrist needing surgery, two pins, and more stitches to fix. And Neal had yet to wake up after falling unconscious in the basement.

Like Peter's injuries, Neal's wounds would eventually heal, but that pain would still be there. When he lifted his arm too fast. When he looked in the mirror and saw the scar on the side of his head. When he moved his wrist wrong. Neal would never say anything, of course, but Peter would see the pain he tried to mask, the memory he tried to forget, and then Peter would feel the pain.

"God, Neal. I'm so sorry."

A soft knock on the door followed by soft foot falls came from the door way. Peter didn't look away from Neal's face as Lisa made her way to the other side of Neal's bedside. He didn't acknowledge her, but she didn't seem to mind. She leaned down and tenderly kissed Neal's cheek. Her light hair fell like a veil across their faces and Peter saw her lips moving, whispering words only she could hear.

"I wasn't there."

Lisa straightened and looked at him. Three days of bedside vigil had not been kind to him. He had yet to shave, and his eyes were red, heavy with exhaustion. He wasn't looking at her as he spoke, so she stayed quiet.

"He needed me, and I wasn't there." Peter lifted his eyes to hers, "How the hell do you get past that?"

She thought back to her own mother, dying in her bed and Lisa half way across the country. Her mother needed her, and she hadn't been there, hadn't bothered to even call. She turned back to Neal and smiled softly.

"You have a second chance, Peter. Not many of us get that," she said and looked back at Peter, "You want to know how you get past that guilt, that pain? You find a friend, pour out your soul, and hold on tight."

Peter looked back at Neal. Slowly, he slid his hand under Neal's limp fingers and squeezed them gently. Lisa smiled as she lifted a necklace over her head, kissed the pendant, and placed it on the table beside the bed. She rounded the bed and placed a delicate hand on Peter's shoulder.

"And no matter what, you don't let a day go by without letting them know exactly how you feel."

Peter looked up at her, smiled sadly and nodded. She headed for the door but stopped short.

"By the way," she said, "don't worry about writing me up for all of those offenses."

Peter turned in his chair, mouth hanging open. He hadn't remembered that. Now that he thought about it, he probably wouldn't write her up at all. But there was a glimmer in her eyes that stopped him from telling her that.

"I resigned this morning," she said, grinning, "I'll see you around, Burke."

And with that she was gone. Peter stared after her, contemplating her words, before standing and retrieving the necklace she had left behind for Neal. The gold pendant the size of a quarter pictured a lily blossom. The words vuelve, vuelve were embossed on the back. Peter rubbed the pendant, then placed it in Neal's palm, closing the fingers around the pendant.

And then he waited.

Elizabeth made a stop on her way out of the hospital. The chapel was simple, a quaint little thing decorated with one stained glass window at the front and bouquets of flowers at the ends of the pews. She sat in the first row and bowed her head.

"You don't need to do that."

Elizabeth gasped and spun around. In the pew behind her, a young girl sat, kicking her legs back and forth, smiling brightly. Elizabeth turned, smiling back.

"And why is that?"

"Cause he's gonna be okay," she said with such confidence that Elizabeth was momentarily stunned, "He doesn't want to go there. Not yet, anyway."

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand what you're saying," Elizabeth said.

The girl cocked her head, "You're scarred for him, but you don't have to be. Everything works out like it's supposed to. Mommy told me so."

Scanning the chapel, Elizabeth frowned, "Where is your Mommy?"

She shrugged, "Probably watching over Daddy. She'll be back soon. She says Daddy will be with us one day soon, but not too soon. We have to wait."

Elizabeth stared at the little girl, wondering how someone so young could speak with such understanding, such maturity. The girl grinned wide, and, God, if that smile wasn't familiar to Elizabeth.

"Mommy says Daddy has to stay here a while. He's got things he's got to finish before he finds us again. But that's okay. I can wait."

"Libby."

The girl looked over shoulder. Elizabeth saw a woman in the door way, face hidden by dark hair. She beckoned to the little girl, Libby. Libby hopped off the pew and headed down the aisle to meet her mother. Halfway there, she turned to Elizabeth.

"Take care of him for me, kay?"

She ran to her mother and then both were gone, leaving Elizabeth completely confused and surprisingly at peace. She turned back to the stained glass window and sighed.

"You do work in mysterious ways, don't you?"

Twelve hours later, with Elizabeth asleep in the empty bed and Peter dozing in the arm chair next to the bed, Neal woke up to a white ceiling and pain. The pain seemed to radiate from every part of him, hot, piercing. He arched his head back and tried to contain the cry welling in his throat, but the pain was overwhelming and it passed over his lips. Something was wailing wildly in the background of the pain.

Peter jumped awake as the machine went off, was completely aware when Neal cried out. He called for the nurse even as he noticed the tight lines of pain around his friend's eyes and mouth. Elizabeth sat upright in time for the nurses and doctor to bombard the room. Peter sat on the edge of her bed and watched while they checked his vitals and administered drugs. Finally, the machine quieted and the doctor told them some mumble jumble Peter didn't hear. All he knew was Neal lying in the bed, no pain on his face, eyes open and searching for him.

"Pet'r?"

Peter was across the room and in his chair while the doctor was still in mid sentence. He was vaguely aware of Elizabeth asking to move the conversation to the hall and the door shutting as he grasped Neal's hand in both of his.

"Neal? Thank God."

Neal searched his friend's face, felt the cast on Peter's wrist and a million questions flooded his mind, but his tongue wasn't quite connected to his brain yet.

"Wha' happ'nd?"

Peter sighed, "It's a long story, buddy. Let's let wait until your stronger, okay?"

Neal nodded weakly then smiled softly, "Knew it'd be you."

Peter felt the guilt Elizabeth had tried so hard to alleviate vanish as Neal's tired eyes drooped close. Peter smiled wide through unbidden tears and pressed their hands to his forehead.

"Get some rest, Neal. I'll be here when you wake up."

He didn't let go of Neal's hand even when he fell asleep an hour later, the pendant clasped tightly between them.