"Agent Burke?"

Peter's head snapped up to see the doctor from the ER, still wearing his surgical gear, standing in front of him. Had he dozed? He glanced up at the clock on the wall. Just before two am. Having risen at six am, he was reaching the twenty-hour mark and coffee could only do so much. He started to get to his feet but the doctor motioned for him to stay seated.

"How is he?" Peter asked as the doctor took the chair adjacent to the corner table. "How's Neal?"

"He is listed as serious but stable," he told him. "We were able to stop the bleeding and repair the damage to his spleen and liver. He also has three broken ribs and a hairline fracture of the right ulna." He tapped his arm between his wrist and his elbow to clarify. "His forearm. It appears Mr. Caffrey was both beaten and kicked. The bruising patterns and the defensive wounds, such as the fracture of his forearm, indicate as much." The doctor leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowing. "Mr. Caffrey also took several blows to the head, Agent Burke," he explained. "The CT scan we took before surgery showed some cerebral edema," the doctor continued. "Swelling of the brain."

Peter stared at the man as the memory of Neal's battered face flashed through his mind. Anger and fear surged within him in equal parts. He took a breath and tried to keep his voice steady. "How bad is it?"

"It's too early to tell," the doctor stated. "Diagnostic tests only tell us there has been trauma to the brain; we won't know if any damage has occurred until Mr. Caffrey regains consciousness and can be evaluated."

"When do you expect that to be?"

"There is no way of knowing, Agent Burke," he admitted with a sigh. "Patients respond differently to trauma; no two cases are the same. But the good news is that presently the swelling doesn't require any invasive intervention and though it can occur after the initial injury, there is no sign of cerebral bleeding."

At least there was that. "So what do we do?" Peter asked. "Just wait?" He'd already done quite enough of it.

"For the next few hours, yes," he answered. "Mr. Caffrey has been through a great deal of physical trauma. I've consulted with our chief Neurologist Dr. Norris. It is his recommendation that we keep him heavily sedated for the next eight hours. That will give his brain time to rest and hopefully the swelling time to subside. After that, we will discontinue the medications and see what happens." The doctor got to his feet. "I suggest you get some rest, Agent. If there are any changes in his condition, I will have staff call you. Otherwise, check back in with us in the morning."

Peter stood up and mumbled his thanks as his mind struggled to take in all he'd heard. After hours of waiting, he still didn't know if Neal was okay or not. The doctor had talked a lot but basically, he hadn't told him much more than wait. They wouldn't know anything for at least another eight hours. He needed to get home and Elizabeth would want an update. Then he'd have to call Hughes to let him know what had happened-

"Doctor," Peter called hastily, picking up the anklet from the table. The man turned and Peter moved closer. There were still people in the room and Peter didn't want their exchange overheard. "Now that Neal's out of surgery, I have to replace the anklet."

The man met his eyes steadily. "As I said, Agent Burke, Mr. Caffrey is not going anywhere any time soon, I assure you."

"I understand that," Peter said, hating to insist but having to. "And even though Neal isn't a threat in any way, he is technically in Federal Custody. Protocol dictates he either be wearing the anklet or under the supervision of law enforcement."

"I suggest supervision then; in case his condition worsens instead of improves." At Peter's look, he explained. "If a bleed occurs or if the swelling increases, surgery could be required. And there might not be time to wait for you to get here with your key."

The thought that Neal could get worse instead of better caused a sense of dread to settle on him.

"I understand. Doctor," he said before the man could turn away. "You've seen cases like this before," he said. "What's the chances of that happening?"

The doctor shook his head. "As I've said, no two cases are the same, Agent Burke. I can't give you odds. I'm sorry. With brain trauma, you just have to wait and see. Have the officer wait out here," he finished. "I'll send someone to get him as soon as Mr. Caffrey leaves recovery."

If things did take a turn for the worse, Peter didn't want the only person with Neal to be an NYPD officer there to supervise a convicted felon. If things went bad, he wanted someone with Neal who knew him. Who cared about him.

"It will be me," Peter told him. "I'll stay with him."

A momentary look of surprise crossed the man's face. "Very well, Agent Burke."

The doctor walked away and Peter sank back into his chair. It was going to be a long night indeed.

WCWCWC

He was at the vending machine getting a bag of peanuts when a staff person was sent to tell him Neal was being moved to the fourth floor. After giving him an access code, he was told to wait about fifteen minutes for Neal to get settled in, and then he could join him in the ICU. He waited ten before making his way to the elevator and to the fourth floor. The window beside the double doors label Intensive Care Unit was directly across from the elevator. He approached, introduced himself, and gave them the access code. A moment later, he was buzzed through.

A nurse met him on the other side. "Mr. Caffrey is in unit 400," she said as they started down the hall. "Don't be alarmed by all the equipment," she warned. "Head trauma patients require close monitoring. He is also on a ventilator," she explained as they reached their destination. "It's a precautionary measure to ensure his airway remains clear."

Although he'd been warned, the sight of Neal through the glass wall of the unit still made him catch his breath. It wasn't just the ventilator, although seeing a tube down Neal's throat was quite distressing, it was the whole scene. Neal, eerily motionless, was almost unrecognizable due to the swelling and discoloration of his face. He'd been cleaned and dressed, which helped, but he looked small in the large bed surrounded by an array of machines.

"It's more comfortable than it looks." He glanced at the nurse who nodded at the blue vinyl recliner. "There is an extra pillow and blanket in the cabinet there, too, if you think you can sleep. If you need anything, let us know."

She left and after a moment, Peter moved closer to Neal. Seeing his bright-eyed, quick-witted CI in such a state caused a cascade of emotions to sweep over him. First was worry and concern for Neal's health. He'd come through the surgery okay, but the seriousness of the head trauma was still undetermined. The thought that at any time, things could go badly caused a feeling of apprehension to sit heavily upon his chest. Then, of course, there was anger. Not only at whoever had done this but at Neal for getting himself into such a mess. He'd feared such a day would come; that was one of the reasons he'd been so determined to end Neal's criminal career. There had been his pride, too. Neal had taunted him with that damn lollipop and had gone out of his way to make sure he knew he knew, every time they'd had a close call. But it was more than just that. Neal was just a kid playing games, granted illegal ones, and chasing the thrill of the steal. He was incredibly smart but he was also wild and reckless. Peter knew it was a just matter of time until he ran out of luck. At some point, he would scam the wrong person, cheat the wrong man, rob the wrong museum, or scale the wrong wall. Neal wasn't a violent criminal, as far as Peter knew he'd never hurt a single person. But he lived in a violent world. Sooner or later, he'd get himself into a situation he couldn't talk, charm, wiggle, or con his way out of and he'd meet a violent end. That would have been an incredible waste. Peter knew an eighteen-month stint in prison wouldn't be a walk in a park, but it was a far sight better than being dead. The four years sentence had surprised him at the time but it was what the judge deemed appropriate. Peter had hoped in four years Neal would not only grow older but wiser. The incident with the escape, however, proved that hadn't been the case. But in spite of that, he'd still agreed to Neal's suggestion of a work-release agreement between him and White Collar. He'd accepted the offer because Neal possessed a brilliant mind and he knew he'd be a valuable asset. Not just to White Collar but to him and his career. That triggered different emotions; those of responsibility and guilt. If he hadn't accepted the offer Neal wouldn't be lying here now, hardly recognizable, in the ICU after having been beaten within an inch of his life. Elizabeth had told him it wasn't his fault that Neal had been hurt, that there was no way he could have known this was going to happen, but that wasn't exactly true. Neal was Neal and if trouble didn't find him, he invariably went looking for it. Something had prompted him to visit Water Street. Something that had resulted in his current condition. But whatever the reason he'd gone there, what had been done to him was inexcusable.

He'd heard that people in comas were sometimes aware of their surroundings so, just in case that was the case here, he reached down to take Neal's hand. When he did, he noticed his knuckles were bruised and raw. Surprised, he glanced up at Neal's battered face.

"Looks like you got in a blow or two at least." Whatever had transpired in that alley, Neal hadn't gone down without a fight. Somehow that made him feel better. He bent down close to Neal's ear. "You are gonna be okay, Neal," he said firmly, trying to ignore the disconcerting presence of the ventilator. "You're gonna rest the next few hours, then wake up and tell me what the hell happened. You understand?"

He hadn't expected a response but still, when there wasn't one, he felt his throat tightened. Neal still and quiet unnerved him more than he could have expected.

He took a deep breath. "You're gonna be okay," he repeated, unwilling to accept anything less. "You fought back in that alley so fight back now."