Last chapter! Wow, I really can't believe this story is finally over. It took a while. Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read and/or review this story, it really means the world to me.

Quick side note – would anyone be interested in reading a White Collar/Psych crossover? I have no definite plans yet, but it may be a possibility.

Happy New Year's Eve, everyone! Wow. Tomorrow is 2012. I… just… what? XD

-O-

Chapter 11

Time

Breathe. In. Out.

Peter threw open the front door to the hospital. Ambulance lights flashed in the background.

In. Out.

He flashed his badge at the lady at the front desk. She glanced from him to Mozzie and back again as he spoke.

"Agent Peter Burke. I need to get to surgery."

The lady was flustered, eyes flicking to the ambulance lights reflecting in the windows of the building. "I'm sorry, sir. I can't allow you back there unless you're a doctor. Or a patient." She eyed him. He gritted his teeth.

In. Out.

"You don't understand-"

"No exceptions. You'll have to wait." She pointed down the hall to a large open area with chairs and a couch lined against the walls.

Mozzie opened his mouth to speak, and Peter held up a hand. They walked to the chairs and sat opposite each other. Peter's fingers drummed on the arm rest. Mozzie fidgeted with his hands.

Neal was safe. Keller was in custody. It was over. No more race against time, no more stupid game of chess.

So why was Peter's heart still racing? He should have been relieved. Happy.

Relieved.

It was hard to be relieved when Neal was still in surgery. Still fighting against the wrongs Keller had done to him. Peter couldn't get that image out of his mind. Neal. Hopeless, beaten, gone. The scene kept replaying, rewinding, replaying.

"Hey, suit?" Mozzie's voice startled Peter. He'd forgotten about him. Neal's friend. Neal's best friend.

He studied the man closely. His cool façade, which he had slowly begun to lose over the past few hours, was beginning to reappear. His hands still kneaded the armrest of the chair, the corners of his mouth were still pulled down into a frown. But his breathing was steady, even, which was more than could be said for Peter, who had to suck in a deep breath every other minute just to calm himself.

"Yeah?" his voice was surprisingly steady.

Mozzie hesitated. "Thanks," he mumbled, glancing down at his hands.

Peter nodded. The sound of the hospital doors swishing open prevented him from saying anymore. A voice drifted down the hall to them.

"I'm looking for Peter Burke?" the voice belonged to Elizabeth. Moments later, she appeared around the corner. One look at her husband's face sent her running in his direction. He stood up as she reached him, and they wrapped their arms around each other in a comforting hug.

"We got him, El. We got him."

"Yeah, you did," she reassured him, standing back. Peter sat, and Elizabeth took the seat next to him. She glanced at Mozzie, who had politely looked away when she entered.

"How're you holding up, Moz?" she asked.

"Fine," Mozzie answered dismissively, with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Neal's in surgery," Peter told her. He glanced down the hall. Neal was somewhere back there, fighting.

El grabbed her husband's hand and squeezed it comfortingly. "Will he be okay?"

Peter glanced back at her. "Physically or mentally?" he shook his head, adding, "I hope so. I really do. Keller did a number on him, El."

-O-

"Mr. Burke?" a man wearing a doctor's jacket appeared in the waiting room. Peter blinked awake. He glanced at the clock. 4:37. He must have dozed off. Why hadn't El waked him? He needed to stay awake, for Neal.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Caffrey is out of surgery now. His anesthesia should be wearing off soon. Would you like to see him?"

Peter stood, nudging Mozzie with his feet. El wrapped her hand around his as they followed the doctor down the hall.

Neal was asleep in the hospital bed. His breathing was strong and even, the steady rise and fall of his chest reassuring. His right arm was in a sling, a bandage wrapped around his shoulder. Another smaller bandage covered the slice on his cheek, and two more encircled his wrists. Peter glanced at El, watched for her reaction to the bruises still dotting Neal's face and body. She blinked, and snaked her arm around Peter's waist, pulling him close.

Peter fingered the anklet in his pocket. Jones had dropped it off a while ago, per Peter's request. It was a new model, unable to be removed by anything – not even a very sharp pair of scissors – except for the key that Peter had in the same pocket.

He pulled away from El, and moved to the foot of the bed. In one fluid movement, he snapped the anklet around Neal's ankle before he could think too much about what he was doing. It was a sort of comfort to see it there, though. The steady blinking reassured him that they would never lose Neal again. He glanced back at Mozzie. Mozzie gave a short nod. He understood.

Neal stirred as Peter backed away.

"Neal?" Mozzie was the first to speak.

Neal's eyes blinked open. Peter saw his muscles tense as he tried to figure out where he was, tried to remember.

Mozzie noticed too. He moved to Neal's bedside. "Neal."

Neal's head snapped in Mozzie's direction, and he cringed in pain. After a moment of takinf in his friend's appearance, he spoke. "Mozzie?"

Mozzie nodded. "How're you feeling?"

Neal either hadn't heard the question, or was choosing to ignore it as his gaze swept around the room. He zeroed in on Peter. "Keller?"

Peter nodded. "He's in our custody, Neal. You're safe now."

Neal's gaze found the anklet blinking on his ankle. His face tightened for the briefest of moments before he looked away.

"You know I had to, Neal," Peter began, but stopped after receiving a harsh look from Mozzie and an elbow to the ribs from Elizabeth.

The few moments of awkward silence were interrupted by the doctor's reappearance. He looked apologetically at Peter, El, and Mozzie. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave now. Visiting hours are over, and Mr. Caffrey needs his rest. You can come back tomorrow at 8 o'clock."

Peter turned away from Neal, pulling out his badge from his pocket.

"Special Agent Peter Burke with the FBI. Now, you may not have noticed the blinking jewelry on your patient, but you should know what it means," when there was no response from the doctor, Peter continued. "It means we're not going anywhere."

"Peter," Neal spoke. Everyone simultaneously turned in his direction. "Go. You need sleep. I'll be okay."

Peter shook his head without hesitation. "Not a chance, Neal."

"I'm not leaving either," Mozzie added. El gripped Peter's hand.

"Fine," the doctor sighed, clearly unhappy as he checked Neal's monitor and left.

Peter and El took seats adjacent to the bed, and Mozzie took the one in the corner.

"Peter," Neal looked in his direction. "Thank you."

Peter nodded, a small smile forming on his lips. "You heard the doctor," he said. "Rest."

-O-

Neal stayed in the hospital for the next five days. Peter had been given a week off of work, and either him or Mozzie was always with Neal in the hospital. The hospital staff had reluctantly agreed to allow them to stay overnight.

Many nights, Peter was awoken in the middle of the night to Neal's tossing and turning in his sleep. Peter could only imagine what nightmares he was having. Several times he woke, sitting bolt upright in a cold sweat. He'd look around frantically until his eyes found Peter. They'd exchange a few words, always Peter reassuring Neal that he was okay, that he was safe.

The worst was when Neal called out for Kate in his sleep. Peter would have to go over and wake Neal out of his nightmare, all the while reassuring himself that Neal would be okay, he would recover. Most of the time he just wanted to go the facility where Keller was being held and punch him. In the face.

-O-

Neal looked around his apartment, taking in the familiar scenery. Peter had just dropped him off, and it had taken all of his argumentative power to convince him that he didn't need to be helped up to his own rooms.

Walking farther into the room, he was suddenly overwhelmed with feelings of relief. His shoulder ached, a painful reminder of Keller and his work, but that's all it was now. A reminder.

A very powerful reminder. Neal walked over to his liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of wine.

Several glasses later, there was a knock at the door. Neal jumped, a drop of wine sloshing onto the counter. Unbidden, his heart began to beat the slightest bit faster. He took a deep breath, shook his head. Keller was behind bars, and he was safe.

He cracked the door open. Mozzie's face filled the frame. Neal opened the door wider. "Hey, Moz."

Mozzie nodded. The door opened wider, and another familiar figure entered behind Mozzie. Neal sighed. "Peter."

"Hey, Neal."

"What're you guys doing here?" Neal asked warily, closing the door behind them.

"Oh, just checking in," Peter glanced at the open bottle of wine and nearly-empty wine glass on the table. He turned, ignoring the fact that Mozzie was in the middle of pouring himself a glass, and gave Neal a pointed look.

"Hey, don't judge me," Neal held his hands up defensively.

"I'm not judging."

"Yes, you are. There is definite judging going on in that corner."

Peter ignored him. Instead, he grabbed a wine glass and poured some of the wine into it. Taking a sip, he shrugged. "Not bad."

Neal threw his hands into the air, mouthing "Unbelievable!" and glaring at Peter.

Peter shrugged. "What? I thought you could use some company."

Neal scoffed. "Yeah, okay. That's enough, out." He opened the door for Peter. "Come on, I don't need you checking up on me every half hour."

"I haven't done that," Peter was incredulous. Neal plucked the wine glass from his hands as he passed him on his way out the door.

"Yes, you have. Should I go through my call log?" he reached into his pocket for his cell phone.

"Okay, no, you're right and I'm sorry. I'm just worried, Neal. What Keller did-"

"What Keller did was condemn himself to prison, Peter. I. Am. Fine. Good night." He shut the door.

"Are you going to kick me out, next?" Mozzie asked, taking a sip from his glass.

Neal sighed. "No, Moz, you can stay." He grabbed his own wine glass, downing the rest of it and pouring another.

-O-

It was late. Mozzie had just left. Peter had miraculously refrained from calling again. Neal lined the dirty wine glasses up next to the sink, too tired to wash them tonight. Storing the wine, he made his way to the bathroom and turned on the shower water.

A spray of water rained down into the tub in front of him, spraying him with a light mist and making a loud drumming sound as it pounded into the tub. Neal froze. His heart pounded, his mouth dried. His shoulder ached as raw memories sprang to the forefront of his mind. Memories of dark, dark and wet places. His breath came in short gasps. Memories of drowning in eternal darkness and water, of lungs screaming for air. He fumbled to turn of the shower, stumbled backwards against the wall, where he slid into a sitting position.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't take a damn shower because of Keller. He was free, he was safe in his own apartment. Yet, as his jumping, fast-beating heart reminded him, he was still helpless.

-O-

The next day found Neal walking into the FBI offices, not at all confident and with no intent to let anyone know that. He knocked on the door to Peter's office. Peter looked up, surprise written all over his face as he took in Neal standing in the doorway.

"Hey, Peter," Neal smiled, trying to break the awkwardness that his appearance had created.

"Neal," Peter nodded. "You know you don't have to be here, right?"

"I know."

Peter considered this for a moment, and then shrugged. "Okay then. Here," he handed Neal a file from his desk.

"What's this?" Neal asked.

"New case that came in while you-… while you were in the hospital." Neal pretended he hadn't heard Peter's falter.

He opened the file. Whistled. "The Kingfisher, wow."

"Yep," Peter nodded to the files. "Take a look, tell me what you think."

"Will do," Neal muttered, nose in the papers as he walked back to his own desk in the bullpen.

An hour later, Neal threw down the papers in frustration. He couldn't concentrate. Words kept blurring into one another. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. Last night's breakdown kept flashing into his mind. What else in Neal's life had Keller tainted?

He ran his hand through his hair, wincing as he pulled his sore ribs and shoulder. He let his hand fall. Stared at the bandages encircling his wrists. It had taken seventy-two stitches to sew up the cuts caused by Keller's damn handcuffs. Seventy-two more reminders.

He stood up abruptly, made for the bathroom. He turned on the faucet. Stuck his hands under the running water. The cold water struck his skin and he flinched. A sharp bolt of anger pierced through him. What gave Keller the right to invade his life like this? It should have been over. Over and done. Nothing to worry about. Done, damn it.

Neal brought his hands up, splashed the water onto his face. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, and his hands shook uncontrollably. He dashed over to the paper towels and patted the water from his face with unsteady hands. His entire body was quivering. The worst part was that he couldn't run. There was no way to run from this. He had to endure it, had to live through every scar Keller had left on him.

No.

No. Neal crumpled the paper towel, threw it in the trash. Clasped his hands together to stop them from shaking. He would not be helpless. He wouldn't let Keller rule his life. He was done feeling sorry for himself.

-O-

Taking a deep breath, Neal pushed open the door. He'd never been down this part of the FBI offices before, and was surprised to see how well furnished the FBI-appointed therapist's office was. Looking around, he spotted the secretary.

"Hi," he tried a smile. "My name is Neal Caffrey. I'm here to see Dr. Weston."