"So I spoke with the hospital…"

Diana looked up at the familiar voice of Jones, focusing on the man's words as he approached her desk. She put down her pen, anxiously awaiting his follow-up statement. "And?"

"Look, Jeff's going to be just fine," Jones said calmly. He reached her desk and leaned against the edge of it comfortably. "They're going to keep him overnight for observation, but they don't expect he'll stay any longer than that. He suffered some burns –"

"So there really was an explosion," she interrupted. It confirmed what she already had suspected based on the earlier intel.

"There was a small box that detonated," Jones confirmed, voice slowing slightly, as though pausing to recall the details he'd learned. "Local police have the area marked off, and they're investigating. We asked—"

"Wait. We can't leave this to local police," Diana interjected. She then shook her head. "I'm sorry to keep interrupting. I just… I still have this feeling that something is happening."

"Diana, we have no idea if the box that detonated had anything to do with our case," Jones replied. "This particular area… There's not much there… Even the police said they've had some unusual incidents there."

"Exactly. The address was not like it had been described in the report, Jones," she answered. "That in itself is suspect. And then to have this happen at that site…"

"I'm not ruling anything out," he agreed, raising a hand in an earnest gesture. "But we gotta focus on the facts."

"There was a note," she said firmly. "Jeff told me that. So someone was trying to leave a message. This wasn't random, Jones."

"I'll call them back and make sure they find the note," Jones assured.

Diana sighed. She felt tense. She realized in a way Jones was right. They needed more facts. Right now, she had an injured agent in the field and not much else to go on… "But back to Jeff… They say he's fine?"

"Well all things considered, yeah. They said the burns are superficial and have been treated. He was in a bit of shock, which is to be expected. They kept him just for monitoring purposes. But he's going to be fine."

She sighed. "That's good…" She glanced over at her phone. "I tried a few times but I still can't get in touch with Peter…"

"I'm sure they're fine," Jones repeated his platitude from earlier. "Don't worry."

"And if you're wrong?"

He rolled his eyes slightly. "I'm gonna say it again… Let's go off of facts, Diana. Maybe I'm wrong – and I hope I'm not – but we can't do anything about it until we get more information."

"I know. It's just that now every time the phone rings, I'm expecting something else to go off course," she replied. "I can't help it."

He shook his head. "Don't think about it like that. Just take the calls as they come."

"Easier said than done…"

"You want to step away for a bit?"

She gave him a skeptical look. "Step away?"

"I don't mind manning the phones a bit. You can't sit here all day."

"It's only morning," she reminded him. But then she gave a small smile. "But thanks. I appreciate it. I'm good for now though."

"Alright…" he replied. "Just let me know."

.

It wasn't until he was finally coming back into consciousness that Peter even realized that he'd been knocked out.

The first thing that immediately hit him was the rush of pain and pressure to his head.

Then there was the deep blackness he saw slowly becoming gray as light came back into his vision. The first acknowledgement of the black signaled an initial consciousness. Gray began to signal a reality. Gray then started to have colors.

His ears were ringing. Loud, chiming, even pealing noise.

The gray and buzzing existence was fading, but not fast enough.

He heard a loud groan and realized it was coming from his own lips.

"Peter?"

That voice was not his own.

That voice, familiar yet far, mixed with the ringing in his head, sounded concerned. He could see color now, and he tried to turn his head towards the voice. Dizziness washed over him at the movement and for a moment he was flooded once again with only black... His head pounded with pain.

It was then he was inundated by his other senses. It was wet, cold, and there was the smell of something burning. Then as it all came together again, a fuzzy recollection of where he'd been before losing consciousness.

The helicopter. The flight. The sense of crashing.

Those renewed senses jarred him awake immediately, filling him with a sense of panic instead.

"Peter," came the voice again, this time more insistent. "Can you hear me?"

"Neal," Peter responded. There was an instantaneous recognition of that voice now that he was cognizant of his surroundings.

He found his eyes open.

Reality seemed more palpable now. And as that changed, his sense of alarm shifted as he realized what had just happened and considered Neal. How was Neal? He wasn't prepared for the innate sense of worry that hit him at the thought. Turning his head now, he felt a slight sense of relief as he found Neal's face was clear in front of him. Was he okay? The younger man was leaning towards him, seemingly on the edge of his own seat.

He suddenly felt a little disoriented by the worry and panic he'd just felt over confirming Neal's whereabouts and well-being... Where had that come from?

"Peter?" Neal persisted.

Focusing himself again, Peter frowned as he suddenly noticed the bright red smear of what had to be blood near Neal's hairline, extending down his temple. "Hey, are you okay?" He tried to raise his arm to reach out but felt a jolt of pain from stiffness. He managed to raise his arm partially before stopping the movement.

"Am I okay?' Neal echoed, sounding surprised and caught off guard at the concern. "Me? What about you? You were out, Peter. Completely out." Neal almost had a tone of accusation in his tone.

Peter's eyes lingered on him for just seconds longer. The color of the blood was in such stark contrast to Neal's skin, which seemed paler than Peter had ever seen. He then noticed the air around them seemed thick, smoky… The air was also loud, like engines were still running. Or was that just his ears? He realized Neal had been talking loudly in order to be heard.

Peter tried to take in the rest of his surroundings, taking a deep breath.

"Hey. Are you okay?" Neal asked him, voice conveying a sense of urgency. "Peter…?"

Peter wanted to answer but felt a brief moment of darkness overtake him again. When he cleared that misstep, he wasn't sure how to answer as the headache and residual ringing he felt compelled him not to respond. He still wasn't sure he was completely present.

He looked around more broadly, trying to make a quick assessment of their current state. Things still felt hazy. He briefly wondered how long he'd been out but focused on the present instead.

He could feel a hand on his arm now, squeezing gently. "Peter?" came Neal's voice again. "Did I lose you again?"

"No. I'm here." While distracted, Peter didn't push the hand away as he started internally laying out the facts, doing his own internal investigation. He was clear on events up until a point. "We were close to landing," he began slowly, trying to retrace the events that were a blur. A blip in time that had to have been a brief passage of time earlier. His brain felt like it was performing in slow motion. "But something happened." He realized he should look for his phone. He started to feel around for his pocket.

"We barely landed," Neal answered, tone forceful but also as though in disbelief. His hand slipped off Peter's arm as the other man started to move. "He said the landing was going to be rough, but… I don't think he realized the extent of it. Because then it seemed like he panicked. During the landing. He hit the ground hard, and I think slightly off course. And you hit your head, and I…" Neal let out a deep guttural breath.

"And what?" Peter prodded. Neal's tone, out of character, didn't go unnoticed.

Neal's response was immediate. "I don't think he made it, Peter." His voice wavered just slightly. The faltering was brief, and he recovered to then state more firmly, "I didn't want to look, but I don't think he made it. By think, I mean, I'm pretty sure…"

More than a little stunned by that blunt statement, Peter's attention shifted to the front of the helicopter. It was then he noticed the broken glass of the front windshield, and what appeared to be a tree or a very large branch impaling the side closest to the pilot. The rest of his view, including of the pilot, was blocked due to his current angle. From what he could see, Ed appeared slumped down, not moving. Peter could only make out the back of his head. Through the broken glass of the windshield the rain came in, steady taps across the dashboard. The controls of the helicopter were still lit, but appeared to be flickering, shining brightly in distorted illumination due to the slick layer of water.

"Do you think he's dead?"

Neal's question brought Peter out of his scrutiny of the situation. He turned his head back to view the other man once more, again finding himself feeling a growing sense of intrinsic protectiveness. He wasn't sure where it was coming from. Something about Neal's uncertainty and questions was making Peter feel like he had to control the situation.

After quickly giving Neal the once over to make sure he didn't seem injured beyond what was hopefully just a scratch on his head, Peter asked, "How long was I out?" His own body ached, and he felt pain not only in his head, but in his left shoulder and knee. He realized he must have hit the side of the helicopter on impact pretty hard, despite his seatbelt.

"Not long," Neal said.

Peter barely heard the response. His unsteady hands finally located his cell phone. He raised it in front of his line of sight and cursed as he saw the cracked, dark screen. He futilely pressed a few buttons on the phone while realizing it was now unlikely to be more than a glorified paperweight. "Does your phone work, Neal?"

"No signal," Neal replied. "I tried." He paused. "I was trying while you were out."

"Try again. And how long was I out?" Peter repeated his question, ears ringing louder as he raised his own voice. He winced slightly.

"A minute or two," Neal replied, brow furrowing. "Not long." He shifted closer to Peter, free of his seatbelt. "I tried to wake you. And him." He nodded his head towards the front seat but didn't stray his eyes that direction. "I didn't touch him though. Do you think he's—"

"You already said it."

"I know. But do you—"

"He could be," Peter interjected, not wanting Neal to repeat the question. "Yes." He eyed the slumped over figure beyond the seat in front of him, thinking the worst but also not yet willing to settle on that. "He could just be out too."

"Well, I don't know what you can see from there…" Neal replied slowly, tone skeptical, "but I don't think he's just out…" He swallowed and then cleared his throat. "We need to get out of here," he said. He reached for the bar that would release the door beside him.

"Wait," Peter objected, reaching out with more strength and coordination than he'd been able to muster a moment before. His handed gripped Neal's knee, the closest point of contact he could make with the younger man that was leaning towards the door.

Neal exhaled, clearly exasperated.

Peter kept his hand on his knee. "Just hold on."

"Peter, I—"

"Are you hurt anywhere?" Peter asked him.

"No." Neal shook his head. "I already told you that. Peter. "

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Neal insisted. "And what about you? You're the one hurt, Peter."

"I'm fine… But before you go out there, we need to figure out where we are, Neal. It's raining, Ed's incapacitated, and—"

"Incapacitated," Neal echoed, shaking his head again. "Yeah…"

Peter sighed at the response. "Well, what do you see? I can't really see him, Neal."

"Uh…" Neal's jaw clenched and unclenched as he thought of the right words. His eyes darted to the front seat very quickly before he grimaced and brought his attention back to Peter. "You see the tree?"

"Yeah." Peter felt nauseous; not from the impending description of Ed that he was surely about to hear, but moreso from the continued head pain and ringing ears. He took his hand back from Neal's knee, leaning back slightly to steady himself.

"Well, let's just say that the tree and Ed… They're now one."

Peter understood immediately and didn't miss the look of disgust on Neal's face. "So he's probably dead, Neal," he said slowly, answering the repeated question from before. "But you knew that."

Neal nodded, brow furrowed.

Peter started to unbuckle his own seatbelt, groaning slightly. "Neal, we have to check his radio. His phone. We need to find a way to make contact."

"I've been in a car accident," Neal stated. "And once another accident with a boat. But not like this…" He shook his head, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. "Not when flying." When he brought his hand down, he noticed the blood. "Oh shit." His hand went to his hairline again. "Where'd that come from?"

"I asked if you were okay," Peter stated accusingly.

"I am. I didn't feel it," Neal insisted, viewing the blood on the hand he raised in front of himself. "I didn't know I hit my head." He spoke earnestly, almost annoyed at the fact he hadn't noticed.

"Shock will do that," Peter replied. "Make sure, Neal. Check that you're not hurt anywhere else. Then I'm going to need you to try to get to the radio."

Neal looked up at him. "What?"

Neal was surprised. Peter felt it. He was quickly moving into execution mode of what they needed to do next. Peter's own mind was fighting for stability.

"The radio," Peter repeated. Contact was the main thing he found crossing his mind.

Peter gazed into the blue eyes that suddenly looked at him with a bit of surprise. The blood had smeared further from Neal's temple to his cheek. He resisted reaching out to wipe it. Instead he said, "Protocols and procedure, Neal. First thing we need to do is to try to make contact. Before we move, we need to see what source of getting in contact with help we have, and what supplies we have onboard."

Neal nodded as though in agreement, but then gestured towards the front of the helicopter. "So you want me to go up there," he said, more a statement than a question.

While Neal's expression didn't give much away, Peter had grown to learn more of Neal's 'tells' in their few months of working together. He could see Neal subtly fidgeting now and the eye contact was gone. While his exterior exuded confidence, these small nuances told Peter he felt anything but.

"We're okay," Peter told him. He realized he felt this urge to give Neal reassurance, despite this anxious nervous sentiment he personally felt within. Despite the ringing in his ears that continued and the aches he felt, he was also admittedly thankful neither of them was injured. He was less concerned about their mission and more concerned about understanding how to get in touch with Diana and get a plan to replace the one that had gone off the rails, literally and figuratively.

"I think I need some air first," Neal spoke slowly.

Peter watched Neal's hand reach again for the bar to release the door beside him. It reminded him of a couple days earlier when Peter had given Neal a ride home after the take-down of the suspect in this case; after ten minutes of explaining what Neal had done wrong, Neal had tried to make a similar exit with full intent to get as far from his handler as possible.

This time Neal's movement seemed less assertive and more uncertain. His hand wavered by the handle, as though waiting to be told not to do it.

"Just hold on," Peter told him. His head throbbed. "You're going to go out in the middle of the forest in the pouring rain, and what, Neal? You have no idea where you are. We don't even know if we're on a stable foundation."

There was then the sound of a spark and a sizzle, with some smoke rising from the front of the helicopter. Peter eyed the dashboard and controls as the smoke cleared and realized the previously lit console had gone dark.

"So you want me to go up there instead?" Neal replied, waving his hand now away from the door and towards the front of the helicopter.

"I want you to sit tight for a minute," Peter answered. He raised a hand to his temple as though that might temper the headache. He continued to look towards the front, at the slumped body and the dark console. He didn't want to risk Neal getting hurt, but also knew they needed that radio. He would go for it himself, but knew he was in no condition to try to get into the front. Not to mention Neal was much more agile…

"He showed us where flares are," Neal said. "I can get those. They're in the back." He started to move in his seat, turning and reaching for the compartment behind their seats that Ed had showed him before they took off.

Peter didn't stop him at first. Instead he took a look at his phone again, as though refusing to believe it was broken. Not like he would have had a signal if Neal's didn't. All signs pointed to it being a paperweight in all scenarios.

He heard Neal let out an exasperated breath as he strained to reach the compartment.

"Neal," Peter said slowly. He didn't even have a follow-up statement. Just a hope for Neal to stay with him on next steps.

Neal remained focused, pulling out from behind them a large duffel bag. He struggled only slightly to lift it over the back of their seats and pull it between them. "Here we go." He turned his head to Peter. "What do you think? Flares?"

"We're not doing that," Peter answered, eyes lingering on his defunct phone. He then looked up and met Neal's suspicious expression. "Yet," he clarified with careful intonation. "Also… It's raining, Neal."

Not arguing, Neal let the bag slide down to the floor, where it fell with a thud. However, he added assertively, "I've used a flare in the rain. It's not impossible."

"You'll have to tell me that story another time…" Peter answered. "But I'd like to try the radio first." As he said this, he noticed Neal about to speak. He held up his hand to hold him off. "Neal. We need to get to the radio…"

"I'll do it," Neal told him.

Peter was initially calmed and relieved by the response. Neal agreeing with him? No fight? But then he thought twice, both considering the surprising ease of acquiescence and eyeing Neal's stance. "Okay. Good. But right now you can barely look up there…" Peter started. His head buzzed and he fought back another wave of nausea and dizziness. He knew he had to keep focused. He was suddenly thankful that he'd regained consciousness when he had… 'A minute or two,' Neal had said. Any longer, and he realized Neal might have been out that door…

"I can," Neal replied. As if to prove it, he turned his head to stare straight ahead at the front of the vehicle. "I haven't seen the front yet, but I'm sure I've seen grosser things."

"You don't have to see the front," Peter told him. "We just need to get to the radio."

"Right," Neal said.

"I know you're not a fan of dead bodies…" Peter watched Neal's throat bob up and down with a silent swallow. "We'll do this quickly."

"We," Neal scoffed under his breath. "And you're right. I'm not."

"Neal… I'd do it if I could…" Peter started with a sigh. He winced. 'This goddamn noise,' he thought to himself as the ringing in his head continued. He'd had a concussion before, and he knew the symptoms of it.

"No, that's fine…" Neal turned his head back to him, brow furrowed. "I can do it." He took a long pause. "You know you're slightly slurring your words, Peter."

"I am?" Peter asked in surprise.

"You are." Neal paused. "Do you hear ringing in your ears?"

Peter gave Neal a discerning look. Did he know, or was he hypothesizing….

"I'll take that as a yes," Neal stated.

"Are you a doctor now?"

Despite the quip, Neal's expression remained passive. "I already know you have a headache. I told you I know that look." Neal sighed and scrutinized his handler. "You're not going to pass out if I go up there, are you?" Neal asked.

"No." Peter exhaled, steadying his breathing as another wave of nausea hit. He urged himself not to get sick.

"Because I'll do it… But not until you're sure you're not going to pass out."

"I'm not going to pass out, Neal," Peter told him, with a hint of annoyance. "Are you done?"

"Irritability is a sign of a concussion," Neal told him. "Top five signs."

"Irritability…" Peter echoed. "There you go with the doctor bullshit again." Despite his critique, he could tell Neal's banter, almost playful, was the opposite of confidence. He was nervous. He was buying himself time. He was probably thinking of an alternative. "We need to call for help, Neal," Peter told him. "I need you to try to do that. Maybe Ed will be okay too, but the longer you wait –"

"I'm not waiting," Neal interjected. Sure enough, once Peter tried to doubt him, Neal was determined to prove him wrong. "I was just making sure you were fine." He took a deep breath, and then finally focused his attention more directly on the front of the vehicle.

"Climb between the seats," Peter told him, voice calm and steady. He rubbed at the side of his temple, urging the headache to silence. "Be slow and careful. If anything seems live—"

"Alive?" Neal shot a look back at Peter.

"Live," Peter stressed the word. "I'm concerned about water and the control panel. Be careful what you touch."