This is it, guys. The last chapter. I hope you like it! Please let me know what you think!
~Erika


When Peter opened his eyes, everything was blurry, and all the sounds sounded...distant. But soon, his senses corrected themselves, and he smiled when he saw his wife sitting by his side, smiling at him. It took him a moment to realize that she was stroking his hair and that there were tears in her eyes.

"El..." Peter managed, his voice raw and scratchy.

"Hey, Hon," Elizabeth smiled, her gaze full of relief. "You had us scared for a minute, there."

"Sorry," Peter smiled back, taking her hand in his. "I always try not to do that...What happened...?"

"You were shot," his wife told him. "But you're going to be fine."

Slowly, Peter began to remember what happened. "I was babysitting Emma..." he muttered.

"Yeah," Elizabeth confirmed. "But don't worry, Honey...she's fine...she slept straight through everything..."

"Kyle...Kyle was the leak...he was...wait..." another memory penetrated the fog that had set up shop in his head, "Neal...Neal was there...Where is he?"

Elizabeth opened her mouth to answer, but someone in the doorway stopped her.

"Peter," both Burkes turned to see who had spoken. Neal stood in the doorway, his right arm in a sling, blood still staining the cuffs of his shirt, although his hands were clean.

"Thank God," Neal continued, looking relieved as he made his way to his friend's side. "How're you feeling?"

"Good," Peter replied. "You know, considering.

Neal nodded in understanding. There was a pause.

"El, can I talk to Neal for a second?" Peter asked.

"Sure, Honey," Elizabeth agreed. She leaned in and gave him a kiss on the lips, then stood up and left the room, casting a smile at Neal as she passed.

When Elizabeth had left, Neal went and sat down in her now-empty chair.

"How're you doing?" Peter asked his friend.

"Ok, I guess," Neal sighed. "I'm alive, so...I can't complain too much..."

Peter smiled slightly, and chuckled until he felt a sharp pain in his side.

"Careful," Neal warned.

Peter looked at his friend. "What happened while you were gone, Neal?" he asked softly.

Neal sighed wearily and leaned back. "Where do I start?" he muttered, shaking his head.

"How about the last time we talked before you showed up at my house," Peter suggested.

"Alright, well...um..." Neal searched for the words to begin. Finally, he was able to organize his thoughts. "Let's see...After Jack shot me and hung up the phone, I started losing a lot of blood really fast. Jack got nervous, because apparently he didn't want me dead yet. I passed out shortly after that, so I only learned this next part later.

"Apparently, Anna had just gotten home when she heard the gunshot. She was scared, so she grabbed a knife from the kitchen and went upstairs to see what happened. When Jack saw her, he decided to use her to save me. He didn't really have to force her much, as far as treating me went. Anyway, she got me stable enough to move, and then Jack took us to that factory. Anna told Jack that she needed to get a surgeon, and eventually, Jack let her try...and then came Justin.

"So, Justin fixed me up, and then Anna convinced Jack to let her go to the hospital for her shift. She had hoped he would let Justin go, too, but it ended up being only her. When she came back, Jack got a call, and then he made Anna and Justin take me out to the car. I was still pretty weak. I couldn't stand on my own, I could barely walk...I was really slowing them down...which is probably why Anna didn't run, too...even though she should have...

"So, anyway, Anna told Justin to run, and then she started getting me into the back seat of the car. Then Jack came out. When he saw that Justin was gone...he was furious. He took us to the apartment building and kept us holed up in a bedroom for...God, I don't even know how long...it felt like months...I was going crazy...you know I don't do well in cages under normal circumstances, but this...this was torture. Then, all of the sudden, Jack apparently decided that it was time to take me outside for a little...fresh air. I'm sorry, Peter. Believe me, I didn't want to rob that house. But trust me when I say I had no choice. But, uh...if we're being completely honest, here...I, um..."

"You enjoyed it, didn't you?" Peter guessed.

Neal looked down, his gaze guilty. "I really, really did..." he admitted. "I couldn't help it...I really hate to admit it, but it's true. I told you before, Peter, what I do—did—it's an addiction. And what Jack made me do...it was like what would happen if you locked an alcoholic in a liquor store. Jack knew that, and that's why he did it. At least I had enough sense left in me to leave you that note. Thanks for not giving up on me, by the way.

"Anyway, later, when he brought me back to the apartment, he asked me if I had fun. I tried to deny it, but we both knew it was no use. He locked us up again, and then a couple hours later, he came back and said that we had to go. I left the room first. When Anna tried to leave, Jack blocked her path. Then just...out of nowhere...he just shot her...I tried to go to her. I tried to help her, but...Jack wouldn't let me through...he just left her there to die..." Neal trailed off, realizing something that made him cringe visibly. "I just left her there to die..."

"That wasn't your fault, Neal," Peter said firmly. "And you didn't leave her there to die, because she's not dead."

"What?" Neal's eyes were wide with shock. "You mean...she's alive...? How?"

"My only explanation is she must be stubborn as hell," Peter said honestly. "She's on life support, but the doctors didn't expect her to be alive at all."

Neal let out a sigh of relief. "Thank God," he muttered.

Peter smiled slightly. "So what happened next?" he pressed.

"Um...Jack pulled me out to the car. We took off," Neal continued, "then a few blocks later, we ditched the car and started walking. We saw this businessman get out of his car...Jack told me to grab his keys. I wanted to tell him no, but we were so close, and...it was a reflex..." Neal's words were full of guilt. He couldn't meet Peter's eyes. He cleared his throat and continued on, his level of shame increasing with every word.

"Anyway...we got in the car...and somewhere along the way...Jack pitched this plan to me. We were going to go to Spain and start working together as partners. He had passports for us and everything. I honestly don't know what happened, Peter...I don't know what made me do it, but...I agreed...I'm so sorry, Peter...it was so weird; it honestly didn't even feel like I was agreeing to anything...it's hard to describe. Anyway, this morning, we were headed to the airport, and...I don't know...It was like a fog lifted off my mind and I realized that something—besides the obvious—was wrong. He always knew to leave before you could get to him. I put the pieces together...and I snapped out of it. I made Jack pull over. He didn't try to deny it. He wanted to leave you there to die. He legitimately did not understand when I told him that I wouldn't let that happen. I saw him put his gun in the glove compartment, so...I took it, and I made him let me go...I ran to your house...I saw Kyle in there, I saw you on the floor...I grabbed the neighbor's ladder and climbed through your bedroom window."

"I am going to ignore how incredibly creepy that sounds," Peter commented with a sigh, causing Neal to laugh.

"Yeah, I guess it does sound a little weird," Neal admitted. "But...I guess you know the rest..."

Peter nodded. "Yeah," he agreed. "I do. You saved my life."

Neal raised his eyes to look at his friend in shock. "Wait...You mean...you're not mad?" Neal was almost afraid to ask.

"Neal, you almost ran, but you didn't," Peter pointed out. "You came back and saved me. And when you agreed to go, you were doing what you had to to survive. How can I be mad at you for that?"

Neal gave a little half-smile. "Thanks, Peter," he said sincerely. He lowered his eyes to the ground, his expression conflicted.

"Neal?" Peter's tone was concerned. "What's wrong?"

For a moment, Neal didn't reply. "I killed someone today, Peter," he said softly.

"Neal, it wasn't your fault," Peter said sternly.

"I know," Neal nodded, surprising the agent. "I know I didn't have a choice. I know that Kyle didn't leave me a choice. But I just...I need to know how long it's going to be."

"Until what?" Peter asked, studying his friend.

"Until..." Neal trailed off, trying to form a thought that made sense. "Until I can stop. Until I can stop hearing the gunshots in my head over and over; until I can stop seeing Kyle lying on the floor with his eyes still open, staring at me, whenever I close my eyes; until I can stop reliving that moment in my head over and over and over again...how long is it going to be until I can just stop?"

Peter looked at Neal sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Neal," he said softly. "But I can't answer that."

Neal nodded in understanding, then sighed. "Well, I haven't eaten in..." he trailed off, thinking, then shook his head. "I don't know, a couple days? So I'm gonna go get something from the cafeteria. I'll tell Elizabeth to come back in." Neal stood up, but paused before leaving. He smiled down at his friend. "I'm glad you're gonna be ok, Peter," he said sincerely.

"You too, Neal," Peter grinned.

Neal hesitated for just a moment before turning and leaving, giving a quick nod to Elizabeth, who was waiting by the door. Then he started down the hall. Instead of going to the cafeteria, however, he ducked into the bathroom and made his way over to the sink. The conman studied his reflection in the mirror. He looked like crap. His eyes had dark circles under them from the endless nights with no sleep, too scared to shut his eyes. The eyes themselves were dull and tired. His skin was pale and thin. With a weary sigh, Neal reached out and turned on the faucet, sticking his good hand under the water and leaning forward to splash the water onto his face while his right arm remained useless in his sling.

Neal heard the door behind him open, and glanced in the mirror to see who had come. He wasn't paying too much attention, and looked away after only half a heartbeat. But after he splashed another handful of water onto his face, he realized something that made him stop and do a double take. By then, it was too late. Jack stood behind him, and he had a piece of wire in his hand. Before Neal could react, Jack wrapped the wire around the conman's neck and pulled back with all his strength, cutting off the consultant's air supply. Neal's eyes widened, and both hands flew to his neck, trying to pry the wire off his throat. He didn't even feel his shoulder wound; at that moment, the most severe pain was coming from his neck.

Neal clawed at the wire, trying to get a finger or two under it to give himself a fighting chance, only vaguely aware that he was starting to draw blood.

"Sorry about this, Neal," Jack didn't sound the least bit sorry. "But you know how I feel about loose ends. I hate them."

Neal couldn't respond. His breath, what little he could manage to get, came in sort, ragged, high-pitched gasps. He could feel blood running down his hands, but whether it was from the gashes he was creating in his neck with his nails, the wire digging into his neck, or his fingertips as they wrestled with the wire, he couldn't tell. His vision began to go dark. His desperate attempts to pry the wire from his neck became weaker. His body began to go numb. The last thing he heard before he went limp was the bathroom door opening...


Jones pushed open the bathroom door, looking for the consultant who, contrary to what he had said to Peter, was not in the cafeteria. "Hey, Neal, are you..." the agent saw Neal, completely limp, near the sink. The only thing that was supporting him was Jack and the wire he had wrapped around Neal's neck. Jones didn't hesitate; he drew his gun from its holster, taking aim and only barely restraining himself from firing before he identified himself. "FBI! Let him go!"

"Too late, Jones," Jack smiled. He did as he was told; he released the wire he had around Neal's neck with one hand, and Neal collapsed to the floor with a thud, not moving a muscle. Then the murderer began to reach behind his back. "I win."

"Don't do it!" Jones warned. "Keep your hands where I can see them!"

Jack didn't listen. He kept reaching. Jones didn't have a choice. He squeezed the trigger. It was a perfect shot; the bullet pierced Jack's heart and nestled in his spine, killing him instantly. Jones lowered his gun and walked over to Jack's body, kicking the wire in his hand away before checking his pulse. When he was sure he was dead, he holstered his gun and turned his attention to Neal. His friend's neck had a thin line of bright red blood stretching from ear to ear, accented with jagged gashes above the wire line where Neal had clawed desperately at the device. His fingertips were scraped raw by the rough wire. He wasn't breathing.

"Neal!" Jones said urgently, rolling his friend flat on his back. "Neal, can you hear me?"

Neal didn't respond. Water droplets sparkled on his face in the fluorescent light. One droplet rolled down the side of his face like a tear. His eyes were closed. His body was still. Jones frantically felt for a pulse, but found none.

"No, no, no, Neal, don't do this," Jones urged. He began CPR, desperately trying to bring his friend back from wherever he had gone. "Stay with me, Neal, come on!"

For what felt like hours, Neal didn't respond. Jones was starting to think that it might be time to give up. Just as he was about to let it go, Neal's eyes bolted open wide, and he gulped down a big breath of air before turning onto his hands and knees and seeming to attempt to cough up one of his own lungs.

Jones smiled slightly and patted his friend on the back. "Welcome back, Neal," he said with a sigh.

Neal didn't respond. He was still too weak, and his voice wouldn't work anyway. He could barely believe he was still alive. As he looked at Jack's body and got his breathing back under control, he thought back to the events that had brought the two of them there. He thought about the letter, about the last line Jack had written there. It was then that he realized something.

Curiosity had, very nearly, killed the cat.

But, it would appear that cat's also had nine lives.

Neal smiled to himself. I've got seven left. Better make them count.


"Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back." ~Eugine O'Neill