It's a beautiful kind of resolution to those long hours spent in the trunk of his own car, vague sensations Peter won't remember much later—being loaded into the ambulance, Abigail flittering around at the hospital, barking out instructions while nurses try to lead her away, CT scans, blood work…

"Are you taking him in for tests now?"

"Yes, Dr. Chase, but could you please—"

"I want to go with him."

"Which one?"

Even with Ellie strapped to Abigail's chest in a papoose, it's still possibly the fiercest she's ever looked. She stands before the ICU nurse's desk with an immutable expression, though her eyes are bloodshot as if she didn't sleep either. "Both. I don't want them separated even for tests."

"Mfwah!" Ellie chimes in.

Abigail nods, triumphant, like her child made a relevant point. "Your examination rooms are next to each other, correct? If you take them in at the same time, I can check on both during their procedures."

"Fine." The nurse sighs while they wheel Peter and Ben's gurneys down the hall—Peter to have his ribcage X-rayed and Ben to check his lungs for fluid build up—probably because she recognizes the futility of arguing with a determined Gates. "Right this way, Doctor."

The hospital keeps Sadusky and Ben overnight and into the next day for observation. Peter feels no pain, on these meds, and Ben falls into some state halfway between sleep and unconsciousness as soon as the tests finish. Doctors even insist on checking Riley's vitals, after he looked a little zoned out there for a while—and admitted he hasn't eaten since the half finished bowl of Lucky Charms. They give him some Gatorade, muffins, and a cot to sleep in. It just barely fits while wedged in the corner next to Ben, though no one has the heart to argue his non-regulation presence.

Sadusky didn't lose enough blood to need a transfusion after all, nor did he lose any toes or extremities to the mild hypothermia. They're squished into a private room together, Ben with an igloo of blankets and Sadusky with two or three IV lines. Both wear bulky oxygen masks that reduce their coughing; it takes a few hours, but Peter can now inhale a full breath without hacking.

He worries about dreams, that first night, but all three men are too exhausted for their minds to process anything. Even when the sun rises, they keep the room lights mercifully dim for Peter's concussion, curtains drawn.

It finally hits Ben sometime around ten o'clock the next morning after breakfast, however, in real time. Sadusky watches his face fall as his hand fishes out from under the covers until Sadusky leans over and clasps it. He's been waiting on this ever since they trawled he and Ben out of the water.

"I'm alright, Ben."

Ben doesn't say anything but he's shaking hard enough to jostle IV lines, their tap tap against the bedrail an eerie counterpoint. The plastic around his nose and mouth fogs. "He took you away…he hurt you."

"We're safe, Ben. It's okay."

"You almost died. All three of us almost died."

Sadusky understands that his words aren't penetrating the shattered shock bubble currently in jagged pieces around Ben's psyche, so he settles for stroking the man's hand. Wiping away a falling tear off Ben's cheek with his thumb.

"I'm not going anywhere, remember?"

Riley must hear the words, even half sleep, for he stretches out and his ankle touches Ben's elbow. Ben snaps out to hold onto that too and suddenly they're linked, an unbreakable chain with a name Sadusky hasn't dared allowed himself to own yet. Four letters and a truth he's just coming to terms with.

"When can we go home?" Riley mumbles for him.

Sadusky is glad the young man's eyes are closed, for his own begin to fill up.

"Soon," says Abigail, upon breezing into the room looking prim and more coherent than all of them put together, despite the fact she spent the night sleeping on the nurse's couch with Ellie in her carrier. She kisses each of their foreheads, one by one. "I just need to fill out some paperwork."

Riley reaches out for a handful of Ben's Johnny gown. He nuzzles deeper into his pillow, smiling at the feel of Abigail's lips on his brow. "M'kay, mean declaration lady."

Abigail tweaks his ear. "I'm going to forgive that—but only if you survive Ben's upcoming lecture about not running after a serial killer by yourself."

"Oh boy."

Peter answers Riley's question by squeezing Ben's hand.

I think I already am.

Peter must doze off again because the next time the world blurs into focus, Ben and Riley are absent and his IV leads have been removed. The rustle of usual hospital hours echoes louder out in the hall. There's also a sweet smell, like caramel, and sure enough—a half eaten Caramilk bar perches on the side visitor's table. A takeout napkin has been folded into a little hat, sitting on Sadusky's former IV pole.

Blinking, he spots Abigail at the door next, unpacking fresh clothes for them to change into. She's in a cream coloured coat now and has her hair up in a French twist, freshly showered. "Sorry to wake you, Peter, I just wanted to let you know that we're delayed in leaving by a few hours."

"More tests?"

"On Ben's lungs," she says, soft, sinking onto the thin mattress beside his hip. "He hasn't told me all the nitty gritty details, but doctors suspect he was hyperventilating a little when he jumped into the water and it's irritating the pleura on his lungs."

"He's okay though?" Peter's mind won't even entertain the idea that his life was saved at the cost of lasting damage to Ben.

Abigail just hums. She seems to be assessing his face, the nuances of his eyes. "We've got to stop meeting like this."

Her joke takes a moment or two to sink in, heavy limbed and warm as he is right now. "Hey, I wasn't the one in the hospital bed last time."

"No, you weren't." Abigail's voice is still hushed, a smidgen too low to be in the normal realm of common courtesy for an ICU ward. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there. I wanted to come along, so badly, but Ellie needed me and it sounds like your agents were irritated enough with Ben and Riley."

It's Peter's first official smile of the day—and it feels good. There are so many things he almost never got to do again. "Hendricks told me something about a chewing-out phone call?"

Abigail flushes and leans in, mirroring his amusement. "Well, he wouldn't give me any details about your location or abductor. Something about me being a 'civilian' and 'it's classified.' I've had enough stonewalling to last a lifetime."

Then she cuts off, somewhat abruptly, as if she's just being socked.

Slender, graceful fingers shimmy up his hand, like woven ribbon plaited into beautiful shapes. Unlike Ben or Riley, ready to tear up at a moment's notice from all this, Abigail's gaze neither burns nor dissolves. Instead, she nods. Lids narrowed, just a touch, lips quirked up on one side, eyes steady and full of understanding.

"It seems you're always saving my boys."

Peter huffs, because she must really have her facts crossed. "Ben rescued me, Abigail. I got out, but with the wound and current, I'd have never made it."

Abigail shifts a thumb under his palm and leans in even closer, wrapping him in a one-armed hug. "Physically, he did…but they would never have overcome those memories without you, Peter."

And Sadusky is suddenly very glad his face is pressed into Abigail's shoulder, that she cannot see the shake in his lips.

A timid knock interrupts the hug and Abigail leans back. She squints at the woman in the doorway.

"Hey, boss. You've got a minute?"

"Of course, Tia." Sadusky waves Spellman inside. "Is the clean up finally finished?"

"Forensics is sending over some of the evidence now, at least what we rush ordered. Profilers just finished a full work up too."

Spellman herself, in an out of character move, seems slightly unsure and self conscious under Abigail's scrutiny, with just a dash of sheepishness. She delivers this report while stealing askance looks at Gates.

Abigail's eyes widen after a moment. "I remember you."

Both Peter and Spellman go stiff, waiting for the blow up, the inevitable accusations—Sadusky is fully aware it was Spellman's branch of the team that shot at Abigail and Riley in the SUV during the Library of Congress fiasco. But like her husband, Abigail is also in the habit of doing the last thing he would ever expect.

She lights up, standing to shake Spellman's hand. "You were so kind at the President's briefing in the hangar. You gave us blankets!"

Spellman's shoulders slacken into something less standoffish. "It's good to see you doing well, Dr. Chase. Congratulations on becoming a mother."

"Thank you." Then Abigail glances back at Peter, of all things. He's not sure how he fits into this discussion. "You should be resting, not working."

"I am, and I will." Though Abigail let go of Sadusky's hand to face Spellman, she's still close enough for him to gingerly reach out and pat her wrist. "It's just a quick update. Right, Tia?"

Spellman holds a hand over her heart in the Boy Scout pose. "Not even ten minutes, boss."

"Promise you'll call if you need anything."

"I promise, Abigail."

She gives him yet another hug before leaving and she's not even out the door before Spellman takes the visitor chair with a wry look. She sits back, hands folded over her waist. Having just been shot twenty-four hours ago, Sadusky feels a strong sense of bemusement at being the object of not one but two women's scrutiny in under twenty minutes.

"What?"

Spellman lets out a breath that's almost a laugh. "Nothing, just…I've never been so relieved in my life."

"That your infamous boss didn't die by a serial killer's hand because he was too stupid to accept a protection detail?"

Hearing the quipped apology, Spellman shifts forward, elbows on her knees. "No. Well, yes. But now you finally have people looking out for you. Now I know why you've been more…" She clears her throat, not searching for a word but rather weighing one in her mind. "…Alive, this past year."

It sobers Sadusky instantly, though he doesn't deny it. They sit in silence, listening to visitors trundle past, flowers in their arms, nurses running to and fro, the blip of endless machines, weeping, gentle laughter, Elli chatting with Abigail out in the hallway, 'ba-ba' style, Riley fighting with the vending machine for another Caramilk bar…

"They're good for you," Spellman whispers. Her voice is quiet not out of respect or so Abigail won't over hear. No, she whispers for the same reason that Peter has to swallow before he can speak, the same reverent awe that has been dogging his every heartbeat from the moment Ben grasped his hand under the water. "They woke up a part of you I've never seen before. Love makes us do crazy things sometimes."

Sadusky runs a hand down his face, the room lurching with emotion and the morphine's groggy effects. "Speaking of crazy…Reeds?"

Spellman sighs. "I think you slashed his wrist at a vital artery, Peter. The amount of blood in that one spot alone was a death sentence. We found his mother's stash of books in Cole's room—you'll never guess what she did for a living."

Peter frowns. "I thought she was a homemaker."

"Not quite. Before Cole was born, she worked as a history professor. In Emily Gates' own department, actually."

Spellman shows Peter a photo of the books and he sags. "An ancient history professor, which explains how he knew about the Germania map and scytales."

"His parents were a perfect storm of information to use in taunting us."

"No," says Sadusky, a touch harsher than he means to. "Cole left those clues to be seen, Tia. I don't think he'd known love or the patience of an authority figure in decades. There's no excuse for what he did, but we'd do well to understand that mindset in the future."

Spellman doesn't ask about her boss's vehemence on this subject or use of his first name, simply nodding. "I'll correct the profile. We can't find Reeds' body, but we've got a BOLO posted with all major law enforcement. He won't last the weekend, Peter, not even with medical intervention."

"So…he could still be out there. Targeting us."

"Way ahead of you, boss." Spellman grins. "That's part of why I'm here, actually, to be on a low profile kind of protection detail for you and the Gates family. They're like trying to herd chipmunks, as usual."

Peter relaxes at the thought they're protected by the best. He doesn't regret what he did to Cole, not if it saved Riley's life, not if he could put a stop to an out of control evil.

"Reeds would have gotten what he wanted if it wasn't for Riley and Ben." The thought hasn't stopped gonging through Peter's thoughts, not for a second. He still can't quite believe it, as if someone is telling him a fairy tale that turned out to be real.

There's a funny puff of air between Spellman's lips that lifts the bangs off her forehead. Her brows rise in remembrance. "They nearly died to get us the information too. Either the bravest or most insane thing I've ever seen."

The words short circuit Sadusky's already deadlocked brain, striking a wet match behind his throat in spritzing stutters. It's a clumsy, panic-driven thing. Sparks, all smoke and no substance, scald along his trachea. He sits up in one sharp motion, so fast that it causes black splotches in his vision.

"Whoa, hey!" Spellman jumps to her feet and hurries to plant both hands on his shoulders. "Boss, take it easy! If you pop a stitch, Abigail will stab me with her pointy shoes."

"What happened?"

"Peter—"

"I need to know." Sadusky pants, forced to do so around hot prickles of pain in the two ribs most affected by the bullet's path. "I knew Hendricks seemed nervous when I asked about it."

"You shouldn't exert yourself. I'll get a nurse—"

"Tia, please."

She stops, eyes closed. Her hands release the wrinkled wads of Sadusky's gown to massage her temples.

"Headache?" he asks. None of them have truly slept and guilt niggles at him for pushing her.

"Gates…Ben, drove to our J. Edgar office with the information on tracking your whereabouts," she says, ignoring his question.

"Okay." Sadusky runs over why this would be a problem. Then a cold bucket of water splashes over his crown. "Riley was with him. Riley, he—"

Spellman clenches her teeth. That, more than anything, tells Sadusky how close a call it truly was—she's not easily provoked to anger, and he's only seen her incensed at this level a scant few times. "One of our agents pointed a gun at them, Peter, both of them. And not just out of habit or precaution like the others. If Paul and I hadn't gotten there in time…well, let's just say we probably wouldn't be having this conversation at all, or if we did it would be in the morgue."

That image burns through Peter's palms for a moment, up his arms, down his spine, into his stomach. The thought of any of the Gates family dead on a slab.

"Who do I have to fire?" Sadusky growls. He makes a mental note to find that footage and scour every second of it. "Tell me whose life I have to make hell for a while."

She sighs. "You know a lot of agents don't trust the Gates family."

"How dare they." Sadusky doesn't care. He is far past the realm of reason, trembling like a flag in a wind tunnel. "How dare someone make them scared, fear for their lives."

"If it's any consolation—I think this episode convinced the rest of our staff now and forever that they're on our side. Saving renowned legend Peter Sadusky will stick with people for a long time."

A heart monitor clip has long since been taken off Peter's finger but he doesn't need it to feel his pulse flying away against his collar. "Who, Tia? Which agent nearly took the shot?"

Her lips thin. "Does it matter?"

Yes. Always, it will always matter.

"I wasn't there." Peter's lips are at it again, betraying even his anger. This is the heavy weight compressing each breath in his chest. "I wasn't there. Not to protect them, not to save them from yet more trauma."

Tia reads his face, her own grim. "Peter, Gates and Poole are safe. They're alive and irritating and bursting with more eccentric energy than ever."

As if to demonstrate this last point, she slips a flower out of her coat pocket. It's wrapped in cellophane, to protect the delicate lavender blossom. "Poole told me to give this to you, after he finished scouring the gift shop while I shadowed him. He said you'd know what it means."

Peter unwraps the tulip with delicate, careful fingers, just like Riley always does. He doesn't quite manage it, depth perception skewed by the meds and throbbing skull, but touching the carnose petals feels like slotting in the last piece of a giant jigsaw puzzle to step back and see the whole picture. Only Sadusky never had the box for a guide and it is only now, right this second, that he glimpses the entire portrait of his own place in their lives.

He's already a goner, so when Tia tacks on, "Oh, and Riley told me to tell you that you've officially been added to the album," Peter finally breaks down. He waters the flower with catharsis and pain and so much love that he knows he'll have to build new rooms in his heart to hold it all.

Somehow, once the hospital discharges them around supper time, the Gates manage some impressive legerdemain and load Sadusky into their car along with Ben. A pharmacy's worth of painkillers already sits beside Abigail in the passenger's seat, on Riley's lap. She immediately fusses over Peter where he's been deposited in the back seat next to Ellie, reading a print out about mild concussions and how often they should wake him to check for complications.

"You don't have to…"

"Peter, dear." Abigail's eyes skim the dry, procedural writing before she pulls onto the road. "I mean this in the nicest possible way, but shut up. You're not even medically allowed to be alone right now."

Sadusky glances at Riley's lined eyes in the rear view.

"Don't worry about it," says Riley when he catches the concerned look, craning back to pat Ben's knee and then Sadusky's. "We had to find you."

Peter very much does worry about it and has no qualms about saying so.

"Worry wort," Riley grumbles.

Sadusky palms at his head. "I'm just glad you 'fed' Hugh for me. And thank you for my flower."

Eyes closed, Riley smiles. The tulip in question is now sitting in Abigail's top coat button hole. It glows in the waning sunshine.

After that, Peter is in a pleasant fog until they shepherd him inside their house, onto the recliner. The spot is strategically chosen, he realizes, both so that he can sit up, easier to breathe than being in a bed, and to keep a better eye on him.

Riley shoves Ben towards the couch, where he stretches out and is asleep again almost the second he's horizontal. There's a rattle in his lungs, one that Riley grimaces at before draping a blanket over him, then Peter. Ben is also still shaking.

"In an ironic twist," Riley comments, while tucking the blanket around Peter's shoulders. "I think he's the one at risk for pneumonia; the hospital even sent over an oxygen tank, just in case. Are you in any pain?"

Sadusky shakes his head. "I'm fine, Riley. The morphine they gave me hasn't worn off yet."

"It will, trust me." Riley's hand hovers over the tussock of bandages on Sadusky's side. "Now I finally have a buddy to commiserate with in the getting-shot club. Yours is even on the left side too."

Sadusky's heart paddles over that statement like an oar in a tar pit, especially at the way Riley's pale while he talks about it.

Still, Peter keeps his voice light. "I wasn't actually perforated by a bullet, like you were."

"Same thing." Then Riley adds an electric, heated blanket to Peter's growing pile and cranks the dial. "Want me to call your family?"

Peter almost asks why before he remembers he never informed Penny. "I don't want them to see me like this. I've scared them enough over the years…this isn't exactly my first time getting shot."

Riley's lips thin. "They'll want to know you're okay."

So Peter takes Riley's advice for once and has an emotional conversation with Penny and her husband Josh that's mostly just them crying over the line and working out the details of when he'll be back home. He doesn't recall falling asleep, though the glossy brush of Abigail's hair on his face, when she leans over him to take the phone and hang up, follows Peter into the black curtain of dreamless sleep.

"Oh, Penny!" Abigail says, phone to her ear. "This is Abigail Chase. It's so nice to finally chat with you! No, they're fine, just dehydrated and chilled…mild concussion…deep wound…doctors said he was lucky, all things considered…yes, that part of the story was true—Ben jumped into the river to save him after he took a bullet for Riley…"

Over the next few hours, Peter phases in and out. There's always someone present to watch over the two men, to create enough homey noise to preserve the calm of their sleep. Sometimes it's Patrick, who appears in the living room to pet his son's hair and sit with Riley on the floor for a while. Sometimes it's Abigail humming while sorting through a forest of academic articles.

"Hey, Grandmother Willow?"

This time he's being woken against his will, though he still smiles. "Yes, Riley?"

Riley is perched on the arm of the recliner. "Um, I'm supposed to ask you some questions, to make sure your head wound isn't swelling."

"Sounds good." Peter's eyes slip shut and Riley pokes his shoulder. "Sorry. I'm here. Time is it?"

"A little after nine pm. You and Ben have been sleeping for four hours. Do you know what month it is?"

"September."

"Your full name?"

"Peter Aleksander Sadusky."

"Cool. I had an uncle named Aleksy." Riley squirms, wobbling the recliner. "Okay—what's your favourite movie?"

Peter pops open one eye. "I don't think these are standard concussion questions."

"Aht! No questioning the official house nurse."

Peter wakes further, worried that Riley might be doing too much by himself. Ben is still down for the count, though he's finally stopped looking like a pastel corpse under all those blankets, and the house is quiet for once. But it doesn't seem like Riley's slept at all. "I'm pretty sure that's Abigail."

"No sassing your nurse either."

"Alright, Riley, you got me. My favourite film is Clue."

"Really?" Riley sounds surprised. "You strike me as more of a Godfather or Casablanca guy, something classy."

"I like that the movie is a real mystery to solve but still ridiculous. Plus, you can never go wrong with Tim Curry."

Riley makes an interested noise. "No argument there. When's your birthday?"

"Very sneaky. You know I'm not divulging that."

"Worth a shot."

The recliner wobbles again but this time Peter realizes it's from Riley swaying in place. "Go lay down, Merlin. I'm perfectly toasty and pain free."

Riley gasps, scandalized. "Ben told you that story? Like, about Enzo and everything? Little sneak…"

"It was for a good cause," Peter soothes, hand clumsy in brushing over Riley's arm. Once in place, Riley's taught frame eases, as if the warmth of Peter's hand is a muscle relaxant. "And congratulations on your new girlfriend."

Riley is halfway to standing, but at this he pauses. "Girlfriend? Peter, I'm not dating anyone right now."

"Oh." The morphine is loosening his tongue, Peter belatedly recognizes. Ben probably won't appreciate the betrayal of confidence once this is all over. "Sorry. Thought I'd heard something about a Rebecca."

"Ha. Did Ben tell you that?"

"Maybe."

The world grows dizzy for a moment and Peter has to close his eyes. There comes the burbling chatter of Ellie crawling her way into the living room again. The shuffle of Riley's feet while he moves to intercept causes her to twitter.

"You're supposed to be in bed, you little toadstool," Riley scolds. "Did Mum let you fall asleep on the play mat again?"

Peter knows, even without seeing, that Riley has scooped her up, maybe pretended to steal her nose like he does sometimes.

Sure enough, Ellie giggles. "Ri-Ri!"

Before Peter can register any kind of surprise, a warm weight is nested against his chest. He tussles his eyes open to see Riley settle the infant on top of the heated blanket, Ellie's lids also heavy with sleep. Peter instinctively lifts a hand to secure her in place. She's grown a lot, but she's still the perfect size to snuggle.

"It's Ben's fault," Riley explains, as if Peter's wide eyes are a question. "Ellie likes to sleep on someone's lap because he always lets her doze off there. It's the only way she knows how to sometimes."

"She…she said your name."

Riley grins, teeth and all. "Don't tell Ben or Abigail, but she said my name ages ago—she's been belting out 'Ri-Ri' for weeks now, usually when they're not in the room. They're still waiting for 'Dad' or 'Mama.' I felt bad being her first real word."

The meaning of all this sinks in a minute later, once Ellie's eyes have closed for good and her elfin fingers bunch up in Sadusky's sleeve.

He throws Riley a weighted look. "Not even the great Ben Gates knows everything, huh?"

Riley's eyes are exhausted but tender on the cozy scene. "Which is why, if he'd bothered to look into it for two seconds, he'd know that Becca is my new accountant, not my girlfriend."

"Your accountant." Peter chuckles and Ellie smiles in her sleep. "It's a good thing I didn't do that background check he asked for right away."

Riley plops down onto the floor where Ben sat barely a week earlier. "If you had, you'd know that Becca Foreman is a happily married fifty-two year old with three children. I'm not, uh…I'm not ready for a serious relationship like that right now."

They are quiet for a moment, Peter digesting the implications of all the ways this family protects each other and Riley staring out the window to a dark night. How he seems scared of going to sleep. Ellie drools, which Peter cleans off with his index finger. At some point, Ben has shifted, one hand poking out of the blankets and searching for Riley's hair in his sleep. Absent, Riley reaches back and touches the slack fingers. Ben settles.

It is, perhaps, one of the most peaceful moments of Peter's life.

Things are not perfect, and they have a long road ahead of them, but he understands what it is to be content. It is an old friend, gone away for many years after Katherine died and rushing back in now like a waltzing partner inviting him to dance once more.

He doesn't take that for granted even for a second. The atmosphere feels akin to mouthfuls of cream, melting and bubbling on his tongue in warm scoops. Ellie's palm-sized back rises and falls under Peter's hand. It fights off his headache at once, the smarting ache of inflamed flesh that runs the length of his stitched ribs and protests each of his own deep breaths.

He knows he'll need another dose of painkillers soon, but he doesn't move. This is more healing anyway.

"Riley?"

The young man rouses at the soft whisper, blinking owlishly.

"Thank you." Peter channels that peace and gratitude into his voice. "Thank you for tracking me down and getting there in time."

Despite his bloodshot fatigue and restless anxiety, Riley's eyes are completely in the present, solemn. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat, Peter. It was a privilege and an honour."