A/N: Alright, I watched it. My friend was here. So we watched it. And... wow. Yep, pretty amazing. Definitely still White Collar. I won't say anymore, just that you won't regret watching it. *grin* Anyway. Thanks to everyone for the wonderful reviews, and I hope this chapter is up to par. Again, my villain begs critiquing, and I'd love to hear any other advice you have. Or things you loved! :) Either way, reviews make me happy.

There was no gradual return to consciousness for Neal this time. He was jolted awake by something large and made of glass shattering near his head. A shard connected with his face, leaving a stinging cut behind.

He attempted to reach up and touch it, and discovered in the process that his hands were duct taped again. This time they were behind his back, and as he was lying on his back, it was doubly uncomfortable.

"I know you're awake, Neal," Samuel's voice said from above him. Hesitantly, Neal opened his eyes. From a few feet away in the dingy room, Samuel took a swig from a full bottle of beer (it'd been an empty one that had been thrown at Neal). The man's green eyes flashed with mixed fury, disappointment, and something predatory.

Neal attempted to move into a less vulnerable position and a huge wave of pain came from his right leg. Swallowing a cry, Neal suddenly had a flash of memory.

Jumping. Breaking. Shouting.

"Mozzie," he whispered. Samuel let out a cruel chuckle and stepped closer to Neal, kicking his injured leg with a toe. Neal bit down on the inside of his cheek as his vision swam.

"Your little friend?" Samuel asked, shaking his head with falsified remorse. "I'm afraid Ames caught up with him while he was attempting to run, and, well..." He shrugged, miming shooting himself in the head.

Unexpected tears sprang to Neal's eyes and he blinked them back angrily.

"Liar," he whispered.

"I'm afraid not," his captor said, the false regret still there. "Such a shame, too. He was such a funny little fellow."

Neal blinked several times silently, though he knew that couldn't make it go away. Despair flooded into him, white and hot and painful. Mozzie, his brilliant friend. Mozzie, who'd been there for him for almost longer than he could remember. Mozzie, dead.

I'm sorry. It was all his fault. If he'd just listened to Mozzie, and to Peter...

Peter. He felt a wave of realization crash over him. Without Mozzie carrying the message of where they were and what had happened... As good as Peter was, it was unlikely he'd find Neal in time.

"Aw, don't be so sad," Samuel said. He nodded and a pair of rough hands hoisted Neal to his feet. "I'm afraid that you, Neal, should be much more concerned about yourself." Before Neal could respond to that decidedly ominous statement, Samuel's fist connected with his jaw.

"You see," Samuel elaborated softly, examining his fist thoughtfully as Neal spat out blood, "You tried to run away. Quite the cowardly thing to do, I must say. And if there's one thing I hate, it's cowards. That, and double-crossers." A slow, dangerous smirk spread across Samuel's face.

"What do you know, Neal? You fitright into both of those."

xxxxx

Peter ran a hand through his hair tiredly. It had been a day since Mozzie had shown up, and he was at a loss for what to do next. They'd put out an APB on Neal and Samuel that had so far turned up nothing.

Not that that would stop him. He would not give up on Neal.

"Hey," Diana said. "I just got a call from a hospital in Brooklyn. Someone matching Neal's description is there. From what the doctor told me, I'm pretty sure it's him."

"Let's go," Peter said quickly. He grabbed his coat with a surge of hope.

"Peter, wait..." Diana laid a hand on his arm, her eyes serious. "The doctor, he said Neal's pretty bad."

"How bad?" Peter asked quietly, worry tightening in his stomach.

"He's in a coma."

Peter didn't want to worry anyone yet- or get their hopes up. Not till he knew it was really Neal. So he didn't call anyone. He and Diana got out of the Taurus, breath fogging in the still-cool afternoon air. With a feeling of trepidation, they entered the hospital.

"Peter Burke, FBI," Peter said, showing his badge to the young woman at the desk. Her tag proclaimed her name as Miranda. "We're here about the patient in room 179."

"Oh, you mean Nick?" Miranda inquired curiously.

"Nick?" Peter was confused.

"Well, we didn't know his real name, but some of the interns decided he looked like a Nick and it sort of stuck."

Peter stifled an unexpected smile, remembering Neal's favorite alias. "I see. D'you think you could take us there?"

"Of course," she said, putting a sign up on the desk and standing. As they followed her, she gave them a curious look. "He's hurt pretty bad," she ventured. "Is he in some kind of trouble?"

"He got involved with the wrong people during some undercover work," Peter said.

"Undercover?" Miranda inquired, brown eyes widening. "Is he an agent?"

"He's a consultant," Peter said. They stopped in front of the room and Peter gritted his teeth. Miranda opened the door and they stepped into the small, sterile hospital room.

Peter and Diana breathed in sharply at the same time.

"Oh, Neal." Peter took another step toward Neal. It was definitely him.

"Neal?" Miranda asked.

"Neal Caffrey," Diana said when Peter didn't reply. His eyes raked over the young man. His right leg was in a cast, his left hand was heavily bandaged. Bruises were evident all over.

"We didn't find any internal injuries," Miranda told them quietly. "A little surprising, actually. He's got a fractured tibia, several bruised or cracked ribs, and two sprained fingers." She looked at the unconscious man silently for a moment. "And as you can see there's a lot of bruising."

"Yeah." Peter smoothed a piece of the now-flattened black hair away from Neal's pale face.

"I'm just glad you found him," the nurse said gently.

"Me too," Peter murmured. Diana laid a hand on his arm.

"Should I call Jones and tell him?"

"Yeah," Peter said. "That would be good." He glanced back at Neal and cursed under his breath. "I just want the man responsible for this behind bars."

"We'll get him, Boss." Diana left the room to make the call and Miranda gave Peter a kind look.

"Can I get you a chair?"

"If you don't mind," Peter consented gratefully. A few minutes later he was sitting in a fairly comfortable brown chair and observing Neal silently, the steady beeping of machinery echoing in his ears.

"Jones took off the APB on Neal," Diana said, coming back in. "No word on Samuel yet."

"Okay. I'm going to call a couple people. They'll want to know." Peter stood and Diana took his place. He called June first, and it ended up that Elizabeth and Mozzie were both there as well. They vowed to come as soon as humanly possible and Peter smiled gently.

The next call he wasn't so excited for. He dialed the number of Hughes' personal phone and the older man answered.

"Hughes."

"Sir, it's Burke."

"How is he?" Hughes asked immediately.

"How is... who?"

"Caffrey. Jones told me you found him. So how is he?" The director repeated.

"He's... alive." Peter's voice was matter-of-fact.

"I see. But still unconscious?"

"Yes."

Hughes cursed under his breath.

"Is there a problem, sir?" Peter asked, confused.

"Burke... We should be arresting Caffrey on murder charges. It's only because he's been pronounced unsafe to move that I haven't already had to." He let out a breath. "If he was at least awake we could get something from him on Myers."

Peter nodded, sickened. He knew Neal hadn't done it. Hughes even knew it. But legally they'd have to arrest him unless they found Myers. Proof to combat the overwhelming evidence against Neal.

"I understand, sir. I'll tell you when he's awake."

"Good. We'll keep on Myers."

"Thank you. Goodbye, sir." Peter hung up the phone and walked back into Neal's hospital room.

Within half an hour, Neal's visitor limit was maxed. June, Elizabeth, himself, Diana. And, most surprisingly, Mozzie. The man stood with the others at his friend's bed, fidgeting. His expression shifted quickly between discomfort, relief, and continued worry.

"When will he wake up?" Mozzie asked quietly, looking to Peter.

"They said... hopefully within a day."

Mozzie nodded silently. June laid a hand on his arm comfortingly. She'd brought a bag of fresh clothing for Neal when he awoke and was watching Neal with grandmotherly worry.

"Good job, Peter," Elizabeth murmured to him as she leaned her head against his shoulder gently.

"We're not out of the woods yet," he said quietly. "Not by a long shot."

Eventually Peter was left alone with Neal. Mozzie had only been able to bear the hospital for so long, and June had taken him home. Diana had decided she would be of more use helping Jones with the search for Myers. Elizabeth had remained the longest, sitting in a worried silence with Peter until she almost drifted off and he insisted that she return home to rest.

So Peter sat back in his original seat across from Neal and watched the ex-con's chest flutter softly.

"For the sake of everyone involved here, Neal, I hope you wake up quickly."