AN: Well, this started out as an answer to one of the December prompts in 12 Days of White Collar (#7, "chasing a perp/black ice/hospital holidays"), but sometimes things happen. Or don't happen, as the case may be. So, a couple of months later, a little presto-chango to excise all the holiday stuff (and most of the existential angst), and here we are.


A Very Good Boy

Cheride

The op was about to take a turn for the worse. Neal could feel it in the way their suspect was just a little too casual but still right at the edge of twitchy—nothing like the last time they'd met. And a quick glance at Peter showed that he felt it, too. Still, there was nothing overtly threatening happening, and though they hoped to make this meet a takedown, even Neal knew they didn't have enough evidence for an arrest yet, so neither of them gave the extraction phrase.

He felt Peter tensing behind him, though. Thankfully, the agent was there in the role of personal security to Neal's wealthy art connoisseur, so it shouldn't seem unusual for the man to be uptight and on guard. But even in that capacity, Peter hadn't been allowed to keep his sidearm, and Neal hated that they'd both be in harm's way if things went too bad. He'd talked himself out of a lot of dicey situations, and run himself out when the talking didn't work, but Peter was used to relying on a gun and badge, which made him more vulnerable when he didn't have them. Even so, if he had to suddenly find himself in danger, Neal thought there weren't too many people he'd rather have at his side than Peter Burke.

But he'd still rather not suddenly find himself in danger, so Neal did what he always did best: laid down a smooth patter full of reassuring certainty and easy smiles. He realized it wasn't working when a beefy fist slammed into his face, sending him stumbling backward into Peter and then flat on his ass on the floor.

Then, everything was a blur—Peter yelling for backup as he dropped to his knees in front of Neal, (letting their suspect disappear out a side door in the process), pressing a handkerchief to Neal's nose and gently pushing his head back to try to staunch the free-flowing blood as concerned brown eyes studied his partner, and demanding (too loudly, Neal thought) an answer to an insistent question, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Neal snapped, trying to push Peter away. "Go catch Caslin."

"You're not fine," Peter told him, "and there are other people to catch Caslin."

But Neal wasn't having it. He grabbed the cloth from Peter's hand, winced as he stuffed the ends up into his nose, and then pushed himself to his feet. He was pleased to find he was only a little bit wobbly, and even that passed quickly.

"Let's go." He strode quickly across the room to the exit, not waiting to see if Peter was following.

But of course Peter was following. "Get behind me," he said, reaching out to grab Neal's arm and tug the other man to a stop.

"You're not armed either, you know," Neal reminded him, but he let himself be shoved aside as Peter barked out a request to Diana for a status update, then opened the door to poke his head warily outside.

Peter was the only one with two-way communication—how Neal hated people in his ear when he didn't need them!—so Neal took a moment to check that his nose wasn't actually broken and had stopped bleeding while he waited for the information to be relayed. After cleaning his face as much as possible, he dropped the bloody handkerchief to the floor disdainfully, promising himself he'd buy Peter a new one.

After Diana's report and stepping outside for a brief look around, Peter declared the coast clear. "Caslin's slippery and got past the first perimeter," he added, blocking the doorway. "I'm gonna go join the search, but you should stay here. You're hurt and your part of this op is over." Then he rubbed his hands up and down his arms. "Besides, it's friggin' cold out there. You stay put."

Neal rolled his eyes. "I'm not hurt, and once we get moving, it won't seem so cold. But most important, I'm never going to face Elizabeth and tell her I let you go rushing off after the bad guys alone. Now go." He shoved Peter forward just as they heard a volley of gunfire beginning nearby.

"Dammit!" Peter immediately rushed forward, running toward the sound. He shouted a directive behind him. "Stay here, Neal!"

Neal followed him away from the protection of the building.

Peter was yelling without slowing down. "Dammit, Neal! Could you just listen for once? Stay!"

Neal closed the distance between them. "You want to keep yelling at me, or do you want to catch Caslin?"

Peter snarled something unintelligible, but he quit arguing the point. "You're a pain in my ass, Caffrey. Just keep your damn head down."

They sprinted toward the waterfront, moisture hanging in the air and snow and sleet crunching under their feet as they traversed the not-quite empty streets. Neal was sure the pair made quite a sight, but nothing fazed New Yorkers; they just stayed out of the way.

"Why do the bad guys always want to meet by the docks?" Neal complained as they ran. "It's gotta be twenty degrees colder down here."

"You shoulda stayed put like I told you. You're hardly dressed for the elements."

That was certainly true. Peter's trench coat had added to the appearance of hired muscle, so he'd worn it to the meeting, but Neal had been trying to project a different demeanor and had gone without any sort of overcoat, and his suit coat wasn't much help during a foot pursuit in sub-freezing temperatures. Truth be told, his shoes weren't ready for a foot pursuit either, and as he skirted around another patch of ice, he thought he might have to consider trading in the fine Italian leather soles for something rubbery. That would be crude, but at times like these, even Neal Caffrey could admit traction was more important than fashion. But that was a private admission, not something he intended to share with his FBI handler.

"This isn't the time for I told you so, Peter," he huffed.

Another shot rang out, cutting off any response from Peter, and they shifted to follow the sound. The change in direction put Neal in the lead and started Peter grumbling again. But Neal had spent a lot of years living on the run, and that had included more literal running than he sometimes liked to recall, so he was drawing further and further ahead, darting around the worst of the ice patches as he went, glad he was finally warming up at least a little.

"I think we're getting closer," he shouted when another burst of gunfire sounded.

"You need to let me go first!" Peter shouted back.

"Then keep up!"

Not that Neal really wanted to risk being the first one to face a fleeing felon, especially one who was obviously more than happy to use his firepower, but Caslin was responsible not only for his bloody nose and unsightly bruises that would surely follow tomorrow, but the man was also currently shooting at Neal's friends and God only knew how many hard-to-faze New York bystanders. He kept running.

"Dammit, Neal, you need to get back—"

Peter broke off abruptly mid-directive, and Neal pounded out several more long strides before he realized the silence behind him wasn't just the lack of another lecture, but the lack of anything. He glanced back, ready with another taunt about keeping up, but it died on his lips when he saw the fallen form on the ground fifty feet behind him.

"Peter!"

Neal turned immediately, all thoughts of finding Caslin gone as he shouted out an update, hoping someone was still listening.

"Diana! Peter's down! We're—" he looked around quickly, then gave up. Never a bystander when you needed one. "I don't know where we are; just track the damn pen!"

He lost his footing briefly, not seeing the large patch of ice surrounding Peter, but he managed to catch himself before he joined his partner on the ground. Sliding to a stop, he dropped gracelessly to his knees beside the still form.

"Peter?"

There was no response, but Neal could see the condensation in the air as Peter breathed in and out, so that was one less worry. He ran his hands quickly over the unconscious man and breathed a short sigh of relief when everything seemed to be intact. Then he unceremoniously stuck a finger into Peter's ear and pulled out the earbud, only grimacing a little when he stuck it immediately into his own ear. He thought he'd never been so glad to hear Diana yelling at him.

"—rey, dammit, answer me! Blake, do we have that location yet? Boss? Caffrey? What's your status?"

"I'm here," he answered. "Peter's unconscious. There's no sign of obvious injury. I think he must've slipped on the ice, hit his head when he fell."

As he spoke, Neal shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it across Peter's torso, hoping to fend off a bit more of the cold with his friend lying on frozen ground. Then he made short work of the buttons on his vest and peeled it off, but suddenly stilled his instinctive move to put it under Peter's head. He thought Peter probably wasn't hurt too badly, but he also thought you weren't supposed to move people if you weren't sure. He settled for putting the vest across the upper part of Peter's body and neck, eliminating as much exposed skin as possible.

"We're sending medics to your location, Neal," Diana was saying, and Neal was suddenly very glad Peter always insisted on an EMS crew on standby during an arrest operation, even when they didn't expect any trouble. "Caslin's a few blocks north of you, so you should be fine, but try not to make things worse by getting either of you shot."

Despite his worry, Neal grinned slightly. "Deal. Just get those medics here." Then he tuned out the other agents and turned his attention back to his partner.

"Peter?" Neal spoke softly, tapping lightly on the other man's cheek. "Peter, can you hear me? Wake up for me."

It took another minute or more, but finally Peter let out a dull groan and shifted a bit under Neal's hands, though he still wasn't opening his eyes.

"Almost there, partner," Neal encouraged gently, "just wake up and look at me."

But though he continued to moan occasionally, Peter still wasn't awake when the ambulance arrived a couple of minutes later.

A pair of paramedics rushed to them and Neal quickly gave them a rundown of events, including his assumption that Peter had slipped and knocked himself unconscious.

He shook his head roughly in answer to their questions, a bitter expression on his face. "No, I'm not sure; I was ahead of him and didn't see what happened, but it's the only thing that makes sense. The shooting—" he paused when he realized he hadn't heard any shooting for quite a while. "Well, when it was happening, the shooting was still several blocks away."

A brief examination from the medics didn't provide any new information, and their opinion was that Neal's diagnosis was correct, though they wouldn't speculate on why it might be taking Peter so long to regain consciousness. In an abundance of caution, they secured his head in a brace and maneuvered him carefully to a backboard before placing him on a gurney for moving to the ambulance.

Neal waved off any need for medical treatment himself, but he gratefully accepted one of the blankets they had on hand and pulled it tight around himself.

He was providing a running commentary to the rest of the team so they'd be up to date, even as he could hear them completing Caslin's arrest and shouting information back and forth among themselves. But when he said, "It sounds like we're headed to Presbyterian," one of the paramedics shook her head.

"You're not headed anywhere," she told Neal firmly. "You can't ride with us."

"But I have to! He's my partner."

"Sorry, bud, that's the regulations." The woman did honestly sound sorry, but she was still firm.

"What if I'm hurt worse than I thought?" Neal suggested.

Her lips twitched in an almost grin, but she still shook her head again. "No."

"But—"

"Neal?" Diana's voice in his ear was suddenly directed at him again. "What's the problem?"

"They won't let me go with Peter. Can you—"

Before he could even finish the sentence, Neal's phone was ringing.

"Let me talk with AJ," Diana said the second the line was open.

Neal held out the phone between the two paramedics. "AJ?"

The woman who'd been speaking raised a curious eyebrow, but she stepped forward and took the phone. She was ramrod straight as she answered, clearly bracing for some sort of argument. "This is Jarrod." Neal saw her immediately relax a bit. "Oh, Diana." She listened for a bit before spouting out her rules and regulations, but then her eyes widened suddenly and she shot a wary glance toward Neal. "What? Diana, we're not equipped to deal with a prisoner!"

Neal's own eyes widened. It wasn't like Diana—or any of the feds, really—to call him out like that unnecessarily, but he was having a hard time imagining how that information could be remotely helpful now. Still, if that's what it was going to take to get him into that ambulance, he certainly knew how to appear reformed and unthreatening; he'd had a lot of practice pretending to be domesticated. He put on his best suitably-ashamed-and-definitely-not-dangerous expression.

AJ continued the conversation a moment longer, and Neal could hear her objections dwindling. "You owe me," was the last thing she said before ending the call and tossing the phone back to Neal.

"You work with her, huh?"

Neal nodded, keeping his eyes on hers, even when he wanted to be focused on the other medic who was fussing over Peter, getting him and his gurney properly situated inside the ambulance, radioing in their status.

"She knows how to lay on a guilt trip."

He allowed himself a small, disarming smile. "I've been on the receiving end of a few of those myself."

The second medic jumped down from the ambulance, calling out as she headed to the driver's cab, and AJ immediately moved to take her place at Peter's side. She looked back at Neal, then pointed at the bench seat beside her.

"Diana says you know how to shut up and stay out of the way. Don't make her a liar."

"Quiet as a mouse," Neal promised as he quickly climbed inside and slammed the door behind him.

True to his word, Neal planted himself out of the way, not even trying to talk to Peter or reach out and touch him. He kept his eyes glued on the gurney, willing Peter to wake, but Neal remained silent and still. He didn't know what leverage Diana might've had to exert on his behalf, or what sort of markers might've been called in or promised, but he didn't intend to do anything to make her regret it.

His good behavior lasted about two minutes.

When Peter began softly moaning again, Neal instinctively moved toward him, but AJ stopped him with a steely look that would've put one of Diana's glares to shame. He sat back down, clenching the edges of the bench, forcing himself to stay.

"Can I—"

"You can let me do my job," AJ snapped. She was already examining Peter again, checking vital signs, checking his eyes. But after just a moment, she looked back at Neal more kindly. "He's waking up."

Peter was getting louder, the groans giving way to indecipherable mutters as he struggled weakly against the straps holding him in place.

Neal still kept his seat, but he risked snaking a hand from under his blanket and reaching across the small space to lay it on Peter's arm, offering what comfort he could. "Is he okay?"

AJ glanced at him curiously, then offered some reassurance. "They'll want to do some tests at the hospital, but his vitals are strong. And it looks like he'll be awake before we get there, which is a good sign. I don't think you have to worry."

Of course, that didn't stop Neal from worrying, but he did breathe a little easier. Mindful of AJ's watchful gaze, he leaned as far as he could without coming off his bench, stretching closer to Peter.

"It's okay, Peter." He spoke softly, calmly, hoping he could be heard. "You're okay, but you need to wake up."

AJ cast another of those uncertain looks his way, but Neal ignored it. If she wanted him to move away from Peter, she was going to have to be a lot more direct than that.

When the ambulance rolled over a pothole, Peter sucked in a startled breath and his eyes flew open wide, darting around quickly. He pulled against his restraints more forcefully, straining against the collar that kept him from turning to see his environment.

"Neal? Neal!"

Neal didn't wait for permission, but stood immediately to move into Peter's line of sight. "Hey, it's okay. I'm here. Calm down, okay?" He gripped the arm he held more tightly and raised his other hand to lay it gently on Peter's chest. "I'm right here."

"Neal." Peter drew in a calming breath. "You okay?"

"I'm not the one being rushed to the hospital." Neal smiled down at him, offering some reassurance along with the teasing. "I'm fine. And you're probably fine, too, but we'll let the doctors tell us that for sure."

"Peter," AJ broke in, "how are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling like I can't move," Peter snapped. "And my head hurts like hell."

"I'm not surprised. Do you know where you are?"

"In an ambulance. Apparently 'being rushed to the hospital,' though I don't think that's necessary."

Neal opened his mouth to respond, but AJ silenced him with a look.

"Better safe than sorry," she answered. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"I was . . . we were . . . uh, running . . ." He closed his eyes, then grimaced when he tried to shake his head and remembered he couldn't move. After a couple of seconds, he opened his eyes again, keeping them locked on Neal as he answered AJ's question.

"Caslin. We were in pursuit of a suspect. There was shooting." His face scrunched as he thought further. "I don't feel like I was shot. We were running. Neal wasn't listening, as usual, and—oh my God—did I fall down?" Even under the rosiness from the icy wind, a faint blush crept into his cheeks.

Neal chuckled as he finally felt himself relax a bit. "You clearly let your chasing skills lapse once you caught me." He pulled his hands back to himself, but didn't return to his seat. He thought AJ seemed okay with that.

"At least they lasted long enough for the important stuff," Peter told him. "But what about Caslin?"

"Don't worry about Caslin; the team got him. Diana's got it under control."

With a satisfied hum, Peter closed his eyes, but AJ jumped in again.

"Hey, no sleeping again so soon. I need to check your eyes again, okay?"

Peter's answering groan was far less satisfied, but almost as soon as she'd shined a penlight into his eyes and declared the results 'perfect,' they were pulling into the hospital's emergency bay.

"We're here. Time for the doctors to do what they do best. You just hold tight while we get you inside."

The second they stopped completely, Neal gave Peter one last pat and said, "I'm gonna get out of the way," and quickly opened the door and jumped out, moving aside to let AJ and her partner maneuver the gurney out of the ambulance and into the hands of the waiting medical team. He stayed close behind them, though he knew they'd shut him out at some point, probably sooner rather than later.

But much to Neal's surprise, at the end of her rapid update about Peter's condition to the hospital team, AJ jerked a thumb his direction and added, "This guy's his partner," and she barely stumbled over the designation. "The patient is calmer with him close by."

He saw Peter's eyebrow quirk quizzically, but Neal just gave half a shrug and followed the team into the curtained exam area.

As AJ passed him on her way out, Neal began to untie his blanket to give it back, but she said, "Keep it; you probably need it more than we do." Then she added, "Just remember, quiet as a mouse." Neal smiled his thanks and made an elaborate show of zipping his lips. She laughed at his antics. "Diana definitely owes me."

Peter was obviously fine, but Neal still preferred being nearby instead of sitting in a waiting room, so he picked an out of the way corner—as much as possible in such cramped quarters—and watched quietly as the doctors and nurses went about their business, coming and going, poking and prodding, asking dozens of questions. Somebody gave him back his clothes, and even with his blanket, he was glad for the extra layers to help fight off his ongoing chill.

It occurred to him he felt colder than his time outside should account for, especially since he hadn't been the one unconscious on a slab of ice. He shook his head. He should be used to this sort of thing by now; a simple trip to the ER shouldn't still be leaving him a quivering mess.

Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself Peter was fine; this was just a stupid accident. Of course, when he closed his eyes, he could still see Peter crumpled on the ground, remember his immediate panic, but that wasn't helping anybody now. Besides, Peter was fine. He tightened the blanket around his shoulders and focused himself on watching Peter, alive and well, talking to the medical staff. When he heard Peter grumbling again, assuring everyone he was ready to go, Neal grinned and let himself relax for real.

He took the opportunity to text an update to Diana, and, now that he was sure there was no true emergency, he also sent a text to Elizabeth, assured her she didn't need to rush back to town, and promised a phone call as soon as possible.

At some point, someone with a clipboard asked if he could provide some information, so he entertained himself by copying Peter's messy scrawl and finished with a perfect forgery of the man's signature. When he paused at the edge of the curtained area, looking for the lady who'd given him the paperwork, a nurse was suddenly at his side.

"Don't worry; I'll take that back to the desk for you, hon." Then she leaned a little closer as she lowered her voice and said, "It's okay. AJ explained your situation."

He wasn't sure exactly what that meant, but Neal flashed a bright smile and handed over the clipboard. When he turned back around, the doctor was finishing up with yet another round of exams.

"Just bear with us for about another hour, Agent Burke. Everything looks great, but better safe than sorry."

"So I keep hearing," Peter groused.

"Peter," Neal scolded. "Let them make sure that hard head of yours didn't suffer any permanent damage."

Peter sighed. "Just an hour?"

"Just an hour," the doctor promised. "You just take it easy and let us know if anything changes."

"Thanks, doc."

As soon as he was gone, Peter tried to push himself further upright, but he couldn't find a comfortable position and was struggling to find a control for the bed.

"Let me help you," Neal said, moving to his side. "Here, scooch a little." Once Peter was repositioned, Neal located the bed controls and raised the head, allowing Peter to sit almost upright. "Better?"

"Much, thanks."

"I'm not sure it's exactly what the doctor had in mind, but if it'll get you to sit still . . ."

With a chuckle, Peter told him, "I'm not sure you've got the moral authority in that regard. You know I could see you fidgeting in that corner, right?"

"I'm not the one in the hospital," Neal pointed out, dragging over a little wheeled stool to sit next to the bed. After a careful scrutiny of the man lying there, he asked, "You sure you're okay?"

"A little embarrassed I ended up in the ER out of clumsiness, but otherwise fine. And really glad they didn't leave me in that stupid head contraption."

"They had to make sure you hadn't broken your fool neck."

"Yeah, yeah. So, listen, what's the deal with the case?"

Neal gave him a disapproving look. "The case is fine; don't worry about it. Caslin's in jail, along with his minions. No one was hurt—except you, of course—"

"And you," Peter interrupted, gesturing at Neal's bruised face, spattered with a few remaining specks of dried blood.

Ignoring that, Neal continued, "All the evidence has been bagged and tagged, and Jones is handling the first interrogation. You've got a good team, Peter; let them do their jobs."

Peter relaxed back against the bed. "You make a good point." Then his gaze got a little sharper. "So, what's up with you? How'd you rate the emergency ride and special access back here? Even when they did the X-rays, they only made you stand on the other side of the curtain. Not that I don't appreciate the company," he added quickly, "but you gotta admit it's a little unusual."

"Hey, I'm innocent." Neal grinned as he held up a hand in pledge.

"You're never innocent," Peter answered, rolling his eyes, though he was grinning, too.

"Honestly, I don't know exactly what happened. Back at the scene, the EMTs were giving me the standard run around, but Diana somehow sweet-talked me into the ambulance and then, as you saw, AJ—the paramedic—passed me off here."

Peter was still eyeing him with somewhat amused suspicion.

"What? You think I'm scamming the first responders somehow?"

"I wouldn't put it past you. And you're telling me you didn't even ask for details?"

"First rule of the con, Peter: never question it when you get what you want."

That made Peter laugh. "Okay, I'll let it slide this time." But then he yawned and closed his eyes for a few seconds. His voice had lost most of its energy when he asked, "Has it been an hour yet?"

"Twenty minutes, tops. Just get some rest and I'll keep watch to make sure your addled brains don't ooze out of your ears."

"That's helpful," Peter answered groggily, a grin tugging at his lips. "Thanks."

A gentle smile spread across Neal's face as he settled in to watch Peter sleep.

And that's where Diana found them not quite thirty minutes later.

"Hey. How's he doing?" She kept her voice low, and Neal moved to join her away from the bed.

"He's okay. Banged his head and got a few scrapes and bruises where he fell, but they'll be letting him out of here in just a few minutes."

"That's good. So just a stupid fall, huh?"

Neal grinned. "Yeah. He's not too happy about that part, so be sure and give him a hard time about it, will ya?"

"He can still hear, you know."

"Sorry, boss," Diana said, and she might've convinced someone she was honestly contrite if not for the quiet chuckle and quick wink she aimed at Neal as she stepped over toward Peter.

For his part, Neal didn't even try to hide his cheery grin as moved back to the other side of the bed. "Hey, if you get to rub it in how you caught me—"

"Twice," Peter interjected.

"Twice," Neal agreed gracefully, grin never fading. "Then I get to tease you at least a little bit about outpacing you enough that you fell on your ass trying to catch up."

"That's enough outta you," Peter said, jabbing a finger at Neal, who just laughed and shut up.

"So, catch me up," Peter said to Diana, entirely back to business. "What's going on?"

Across the bed, Neal gave her a subtle head shake, and she followed his lead.

"Let us worry about that, boss. Everything's good and the case is solid, so you just worry about getting back on your feet."

"I'll be back on my feet as soon as the doctor gets back here," he grumped, and pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, proving his readiness. But he still looked a little woozy, so Neal hustled around and plopped himself onto the bed next to Peter, providing a convenient, discreet shoulder for extra support.

"It's not like I'm actually hurt," Peter went on, though he flashed a grateful smile at his partner. "They said I don't even have a concussion; just a little headache."

But Diana didn't back down. "Still. Just know that we've got everything under control. Jones is questioning Caslin right now, and he's wearing him down. Won't surprise me if he actually gets a full confession."

"That's good news. You guys did good work. Thank you."

Diana nodded at the praise and steered the conversation away from the case. But after just a minute or two of idle chatter, Peter had a sudden question.

"Diana, not that I'm not grateful, but what did you have to do to make Neal my shadow? They haven't asked him to leave even once."

"Oh, that." Diana looked sheepish as she shook her head. "It was nothing. But I'm glad it worked out. No offense, Neal, but you can be a real pain in the ass when you're worried."

"Hey!"

Peter laughed. "You probably could've just stopped that sentence after 'pain in the ass.'"

"Hey!" Neal objected again, prompting both agents to laugh at him. But then he decided he was more curious than offended. "No, seriously. What story did you spin for AJ?"

"Thinking you might need to use it again someday?" Peter challenged.

Neal shrugged and offered him a virtuous smile, but no other response.

To Diana, he said, "Come on. I know you told her I was in custody; what I don't know is how that convinced her to let me in the ambulance."

Peter raised an eyebrow at that, and his grin slipped a little. "I might be interested in knowing how that works myself."

"Ah, well." Diana shoved her hand into her pockets and rocked back on her heels a bit, her eyes suddenly anywhere but on the men in front of her.

"Diana?" Peter's tone didn't allow for further evasion.

"Well, I might've . . . implied . . . that when he's off-anklet, we, um . . . implant Neal with a proximity device."

"What?"

Diana continued her explanation. "And that if they transported you away from him, it would act kind of like a dog's electric training collar. So either he'd be left there in the street getting low-level shocks repeatedly until a marshal came to arrest him, or I'd have to interrupt the arrest of an actual dangerous criminal to come get him." She shrugged. "I've known AJ a long time; I knew she wouldn't want to be responsible for either of those things."

When both men just stared at her in wide-eyed disbelief, Diana shrugged again and finally grinned a little. "I didn't have time to deal with it or come up with a reasonable solution, so I took a page out of Caffrey's playbook."

Neal was pretty sure he should've been at least a little bothered by the implication that his solutions weren't typically reasonable, but he was too busy being impressed. His surprised expression had shifted to awed delight when he finally found his voice.

"Diana, I can't believe it; you were scamming the first responders!" He collapsed into a fit of laughter. "I told you I was innocent!" he told Peter, though his merriment drowned out his vindication.

"Agent Berrigan." Peter spoke sternly, but his twitching lip and twinkling eyes betrayed him. "I'm surprised at you." Then he turned to face his CI. "And you . . ."

Neal tried to meet the serious expression with an appropriate amount of solemnity, but he couldn't stifle his grin.

". . . stop corrupting my agents."

"Corrupting her?" Neal repeated incredulously. "I'm gonna ask her for lessons!"

At that, the agents couldn't hold back any longer and all three of them dissolved into laughter.

When the doctor showed up just a minute later to perform one last exam, they all brought themselves back under control. Neal moved quickly from the bed back to his corner and Diana joined him there as they waited for Peter to be released. But then the doc paused his ministrations and glanced at Diana.

"I know these gentlemen arrived by ambulance; are you the designated driver?" he asked.

"That's me."

"Excellent." He turned back to Peter. "Even without a concussion, I'd still feel better if you waited until tomorrow to get back behind the wheel."

"That's not a problem," Peter told him.

"I'm also going to recommend that you take the rest of the day off. Go home, rest, avoid straining your eyes too much, limit your reading and television, Tylenol as needed."

Peter bristled a bit more at those instructions. "That sounds like overkill to me, doc. I feel fine, just a little headache."

"I'm sure that's true at the moment; we've given you something for the immediate pain. But your headache may worsen and your body is likely to start feeling the effects of colliding with the asphalt once the medication starts wearing off. OTC pain relievers should be fine, but your best medicine is just going to be taking it easy today. Surely your colleague here can . . ." He paused very briefly and threw a meaningful look toward Neal. "Handle things."

And that was all it took to start Neal quivering, fighting back the giggle that would surely be inappropriate for a myriad of reasons.

Diana pressed her lips together tightly, holding in her own laughter, and even Peter grinned a little bit, but he held himself together enough to save his team members.

"Diana, I think we're almost done here, so why don't you take Neal and bring the car around?"

Diana was fully in control again when she nodded sharply and said, "I can handle that." Then she grabbed Neal by the arm as he almost doubled over into a well-timed coughing fit. "Come on, Caffrey; you're with me."

They were barely outside the curtain before they exploded with laughter and heard Peter offering a weak excuse. "It's been kind of a long day." They hurried out before they could cause any more disruption.

Several minutes later, Peter slipped into the passenger seat of the waiting car and turned a stern expression on two dopey grins. "You two are going to be the death of me." But he winked at them as he repositioned himself and buckled his seatbelt.

"I keep telling you: For once, I'm one hundred percent innocent!" Neal exclaimed from the back seat, where he had covered himself with his blanket again after Diana made him walk all the way through the parking lot to the car. He was never going undercover without his coat again. He gave them a put-upon pout for good measure. Then he grinned.

"But I have to admit, it was a great cover story. I'm very impressed, Agent Berrigan, even if I probably can't ever show my face here again. They'll start scanning me like a stray dog."

The agents chuckled as Diana pulled the car into traffic.

"It's not a bad idea, really," Peter said. "I have to admit, the idea of you being forced to stay where you belong is not without merit. And there've been plenty of times it would've been really helpful if you came with a note."

"For real," Diana agreed, eyes alight with a wicked gleam. "Property of Peter Burke. If found, please call."

Neal snorted. "Yeah, right. Me and Satchmo."

"I wonder what it would take to requisition something like that?" Peter mused.

"Wait. What?" Neal's eyes flew open wide, and the humor drained from his face. "You guys don't really have something like that?" He leaned forward, straining against his belt. "Peter? Tell me the FBI doesn't really have something like that." He twisted his head the other direction. "Diana? You made all that up, right? Right?"

Not for the first time, Neal thought if Peter and Diana could ever let go of their annoying legal streaks, they'd be unstoppable con artists. They were inscrutable. At the moment, though, he wasn't much of a fan as he continued to look back and forth between them, hoping they were just jerking him around.

Finally, Peter winked at him and let him off the hook. "No, Caffrey, we don't have an electric proximity device, or even an implantable GPS."

Neal sat back with a sigh of relief. "Thank God, because that would be—"

"At least not yet," Peter interrupted with a smug grin. "But a simple microchip . . . Might need to talk to our tech guys."

This time, Neal's pout was very real. "That's a fine way to treat the guy who saved your life."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Bit of an overstatement."

"Well, I did give you the jacket off my back in the freezing cold; that should count for something. And for the record, you do not ever have permission to microchip me. Diana, you're my witness."

"Don't involve me, Caffrey."

"You guys are mean."

Diana laughed, and Peter grinned, but then Peter eased up a little.

"Okay, I guess I should be glad you didn't leave me in a heap on the frozen tundra and tear off after Caslin alone."

"Exactly." Neal was slightly appeased—at least until Peter twisted around with mischief in his eyes and opened his mouth again.

"You were a very good boy."

Diana cackled.

Peter turned back toward the front, looking positively gleeful.

"I hate you both," Neal told them, which didn't diminish the agents' joy in the least.

But after a minute, Peter relented. "Okay. I'm sorry I called you a good boy."

"And threatened to have me microchipped," Neal said petulantly.

Peter chuckled. "That, too." He glanced behind him again. "How about I let Diana drop you off at my place and you can have the rest of the day off, too?"

"Pretty sure I'm the one who actually did all the work today," Diana grumbled. "Why's he get the day off and I have to go back and file reports?"

Neal perked up and pointedly ignored Diana. "Can we make hot chocolate and start a fire?"

"You make the hot chocolate; I'll start the fire."

"Okay." A smile lit Neal's face.

Diana rolled her eyes at him in the rearview mirror. "Caffrey, you do realize he doesn't even need a microchip if you're just gonna willingly follow him home. What kind of stray are you, anyway?" Neal stuck his tongue out at her. "Besides, you know we've got hot chocolate at the office. Come help me with the reports, and I'll make you a cup."

"Hey," Peter admonished. "Get your own; he's my stray."

Neal snuggled further down into his blanket and let his smile spread. "Woof."

~END~


Thanks bunches for reading today! Also, I wanted to let you know that the next thing you'll probably see from me will be next weekend, as part of Mozzie Mania. There's still plenty of time if you'd like to write/draw/create something for the event. And, be sure to check out the Tumblr page of the event hosts, Operation: More White Collar, to see what they're doing for a cause that was near and dear to Willie Garson's heart.