The exam room was small and exceedingly clean-looking, with off-white vinyl flooring against pale powder blue wallpaper with a subtle striped texture. There was one window high on the back wall covered with a floral patterned valence. Neal did some quick trigonometry in his head before ultimately realizing the window was too high and too small to accommodate his hips.

Peter noticed his consultant sizing up the window, and fought against the urge to make some facetious comment comparing the size of the examination room to the jail cell he once inhabited. Picking on the kid isn't going to help him with this, he told himself. Instead, he took a seat in a chair in the corner of the room while Neal hoisted himself up onto the exam table. He looked slightly pale, and he had his hands clenched tightly around the edge of the table, on either side of his knees, to keep them from shaking.

"What are you doing, Neal?" the agent asked, glancing at the younger man, who appeared to be staring at the ceiling.

"Counting the specks on the drop ceiling tiles," he answered quietly without looking down, as if the noise or movement would disrupt his focus. "Distracting myself."

Respectfully, Peter fell silent. This was obviously a sensitive issue for his consultant that a simple "cowboy up!" would not resolve. He struggled in his mind with how he could convey his comfort and support until the door opened and Shauna Reynolds, L.P.N. returned with a tray of equipment.

"Okay, mister Caffrey, let's get your blood work done so the lab can work on that… when was the last time you had your cholesterol and blood sugar checked?" Shauna wasted no time getting into her professional routine.

"It's been a while," Neal admitted.

"And there's no need for a tox screen, Agent Burke?" she addressed his superior.

"That won't be necessary," he confirmed.

"Alright, well it will be a lot easier for me to get to those veins if you could remove your jacket and shirt. You can keep your undershirt on if that's more comfortable for you," Shauna instructed, noticing his hands fumble as he loosened his tie. He tossed his jacket, shirt, and tie at Peter in the corner, who caught them before they landed on his head.

"Don't let those wrinkle," Neal warned his handler, feeling somewhat exposed in just a white v-necked undershirt. He extended his arm as Shauna reached for it. She found the vein on the first try, to Neal's relief, and rapidly filled two small vials of blood, finally applying a bandage to the site.

"I'll just drop these off and be right back," she said before she looked back up at her patient. "Let me bring you some apple juice too," she added kindly as she left, hoping the sugar would return some of his color.

"You're white as a sheet," Peter commented when they were alone again.

The con man grunted weakly. "Nurse took all my blood. No color. No energy."

Shauna returned with a cup of juice, which she pressed into Neal's hand. "Here, you'll feel better if you drink this – not too fast!" she added before he could consume the contents in a single gulp. She began counting the pulse in Neal's other wrist as he sipped. Seventy-eight beats per minute was faster than it should be for a man of his age and apparent fitness level, but it wasn't unusual for patients to be nervous; she made a mental note to ask the doctor to re-check it after everything was complete to see if it had gone down some.

Neal handed Shauna his empty cup to dispose of. He didn't feel any better yet, but Peter seemed less worried, so he knew his color must be returning. The room was still a little fuzzy, but at least it wasn't spinning.

Shauna fastened the blood pressure cuff around Neal's arm and inflated it, inserting her stethoscope under the edge of the cuff. It felt cool on his exposed skin, but he was too out of it to complain. He sat and waited nervously as the nurse finished taking the reading.

"It's still a little low, mister Caffrey. That can happen with some patients' blood work. I'll have the doctor check it again before you leave to make sure it's fine," she reassured. Frankly, she was surprised it hadn't dipped low enough for him to pass out altogether. She had been in this profession long enough to be able to spot the fainters, and Neal hadn't initially struck her as one of them. This job is full of surprises, she thought. She quickly measured his temperature, which was normal, and recorded everything on his chart before she left, promising to send the doctor in right away.

"Still okay there, Neal?" Peter checked.

"Mmm-hmm," the con man responded, finally making delayed eye contact. "Not too awful."

"Good," Peter affirmed, more to himself at this point than to his partner. "Do you still feel like you might faint?"

"No, 's okay now," Neal mumbled back. "Just a little dizzy still." He drew in a slow, deep breath.

"Hang on a little longer. They'll be done soon, and then I'll take you home," the agent promised. If his consultant's openness was any indication of how he was feeling, Neal wouldn't be up to finishing the work day.

"Kay," he agreed.

A moment later the door opened again, and a fifty-something man in a white lab coat and tie entered the exam room. "Neal Caffrey," he read off his clipboard without looking up. "I'm Dr. Cohen-"

"Sam!" Peter interrupted, getting the doctor to look away from Neal's chart.

"Ahh, Agent Peter Burke, how are you?" By the way Dr. Cohen greeted Peter, Neal could tell they had met more than a few times. "How's that, umm, what is it – chronic headache?" he continued with a subtle wink.

"Fine, thank you," the agent answered sheepishly. "This is my consultant, Neal," he gestured, and the consultant shook the doctor's hand. Samuel Cohen, M.D. was embroidered on his lab coat above the left breast pocket.

"What can I do for you today, mister Caffrey?" he inquired with a warm smile.