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Chapter Six

"He's gone, Neal," Peter said once the doctor had left them. Like a good patient, Neal had lain quietly, eyes closed, pretending to rest while the doctor had consulted with Peter. "You can quit playing opossum."

There was no response; on top of the coverlet, Neal remained motionless.

"He's not playing," Elizabeth remarked, her eyes resting on Neal's still form as well. "He's really asleep."

Peter frowned at Neal's placid repose. "You think so?"

"Yes," she said in a low voice, "in spite of what he says, he is not fine. He has a shattered scapula and a lot of muscle damage." She frowned. "They also said he has several cracked ribs."

Peter's memory of the evening's events was sketchy but he clearly remembered the thud Reich's pistol butt made when it connected with Neal's side. "Yeah, the son of a bitch hit him."

"Well, he needs his rest," she continued wearily, shifting her gaze back to Peter. "He's weak, not to mention exhausted; I bet he didn't sleep more than two hours the entire night."

Which meant she'd slept even less. There was a blanket swung across the arm of the recliner nestled in between the two beds, but he doubted she'd used it. Neal wasn't the only one who was exhausted. "You were here all night?"

She nodded. "Reece called just after six," she told him. "He said you'd been hurt and that he was sending an agent to get me. He wouldn't tell me anything other than you were alive." Her eyes grew stormy. "I was so scared, Peter."

Peter could only imagine what that ride had been like. It was the call every spouse of law enforcement dreaded most. He'd have to remember to thank Reece for looking after Elizabeth, for sending a car and not letting her drive herself.

"I know you were," he acknowledged, squeezing her hand. "But it's okay; I'm okay." He again glanced across at Neal. "We both are."

It truly was a miracle. As he and Neal had huddled together in that horrible room, Reich's body only feet away, he had been certain they were going to die there. But they hadn't; Neal had found a way to save them.

"When did he get a new anklet?" It was there, dark against Neal's pale skin.

"I'm not sure," Elizabeth answered. "He had it on when they brought him in here last night."

The Marshal Service sure hadn't wasted any time in replacing it. Peter understood; it was protocol. But still, it bothered him. What had they said? Did they ask how he was, or show any concern for what he'd been through? Did they thank him for saving the life of a federal agent?

Probably not. They'd likely snapped it on with an air of irritation the moment he'd cleared surgery. Tracking devices weren't cheap; Peter had been informed of that during their budget meeting, and Neal Caffrey went through entirely too many of them.

Peter frowned, recalling the reason Neal had given for his ill-advised departure from the recovery room.

"He said he was looking for me when he fell," he remarked. "That he was afraid people were lying to him and I was dead."

"That's my fault," she ssid with a tone of recrimination. "I should have called June or even Mozzie but I just didn't think..." She shook her head regretfully. "I was so worried about you, we all were, that no one thought about how scared he was. He should have had someone he knew with him, someone he trusted to tell him the truth. But he didn't." Her eyes were dark with distress. "I felt awful when they told me what had happened." Again her eyes traveled to Neal. "That's why I was glad they brought him in here with us."

The thought of Neal upset and alone, not knowing what was going on, tugged at Peter's heart. He was glad he was here, too, regardless of the tight quarters.

"You know he saved my life."

"He said you saved your lives," she informed him. "That if you hadn't fought back that man would have killed you both."

"Well, yeah," Peter admitted halfheartedly, "but if Neal hadn't gotten help, we'd have both died anyway."

"I guess it was a team effort, then," she said with a tired smile. "Diana told me how he sent the message through his anklet."

Peter frowned. "What message?"

"Agent Down Send Help," she recited, enunciating each word. "He did it with morse code. Diana said he'd sent a message like that before." He had. And he'd been under duress then as well but not to the level he'd been under this time. Peter had been impressed Neal had the presence of mind to cut the anklet but he'd done even more than that, he'd sent an SOS in the process.

"I'm surprised anyone noticed," Peter remarked. "Usually, everyone immediately assumes the worst where Neal is concerned." He didn't miss the look El sent him. "Okay," he conceded, "I know I tend to do that too, but I at least try to keep an open mind."

"Well, fortunately for you, so did Clinton and Diana," she answered. "There was something odd about the signal disruption. At first they thought it might just not have been a clean cut but when they replayed it, Jones noticed a pattern." Another person Peter owned a thank you. The list was growing. "They had EMS meet them there," she continued. "The doctor said getting you immediate medical help made all the difference."

That and the fact that Neal hadn't done what Peter had told him to do.

"He's never gonna let me forget this."

"Probably not and Diana won't let either one of you forget it." She smiled at his questioning look. "She said when they got there, you were leaning against Neal and he had his arm wrapped around you."

"He was trying to keep me from bleeding to death, El," Peter stated, wincing at the visualization of the scene in his mind.

"She said it was really sweet," Elizabeth continued, obviously enjoying his discomfort with the subject, "and if she hadn't been so scared, and you two hadn't been so bloody," her blue eyes twinkled "she'd have taken a picture."

"Blackmail is illegal."

"Oh, come on Peter," she needled in good humor. "The two of you might not always see eye to eye but you have a special bond. Everyone knows it."

"Yeah," he pushed back, "it's called work release."

"It's called friendship." This time her tone held mild exacerbation. "You're both just too prideful and bullheaded to admit how much you mean to each other."

Her words stirred a thought, a memory. Had he told Neal he was the best friend he'd ever had or had he just thought it?

Surely he hadn't said it. His eyes drifted once more to Neal's slumbering form. "It's complicated."

It was complicated now but it hadn't been yesterday. He'd have died to save Neal and he knew Neal would have done the same for him. And it wasn't paperwork that bound them; it was something much stronger. He knew it was there, he'd known for a while, and so did Neal. But just as Elizabeth had pointed out, neither one of them would acknowledge it. Peter didn't think it was all bull-headedness; at least not on his part. Neal needed firm boundaries. He was a good person but sometimes, most of the time, he was his own worst enemy. If he perceived the least bit of flexibility, felt any give in the rules, he'd push right through and headlong into trouble; it was just who he was. It was up to Peter to keep that from happening.

"Why is it complicated?"

"I'm his handler," he pointed out. "it's my job to manage him, to keep him out of trouble." He frowned, eyes still on Neal's still body. "That makes it complicated."

"Seems to me there is a lot of common ground there," she observed. "Isn't that what friends do, too?" she pressed. "Keep each other out of trouble?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Peter conceded reluctantly, shifting his gaze back to El. With Neal that was a full-time job; he was glad he got paid for it. "But you know the Bureau discourages friendships with assets and for good reason. It's too easy for a personally invested agent to cross the line, to allow sentiment to influence good judgment." It had already happened on numerous occasions and Elizabeth's raised eyebrows told him she knew it. Still, he carried his point on to completion. "I just have to be careful, El. You know Neal. If I give him an inch, he'll take a mile."

"What?" she asked, searching his eyes intently. "You think if he knew how much you cared about him he'd suddenly revolt? Runoff? Return to a life of crime?" The question must have been rhetorical because she didn't give him a chance to answer. "I think you've got it all wrong, Peter," she insisted with a slight shake of her head. "I think knowing you care about him is what keeps him here."

Peter couldn't deny the truth of her words. He'd known all along a tracking device wasn't going to keep Neal Caffrey in place. He was smart, creative and had great ingenuity. If he wanted to run, he'd find a way to do it. Peter knew there was something else, something he hadn't understand at first, that tied Neal to New York and more importantly, to him.

Though it wasn't apparent by his life choices or his devil-may-care attitude, Peter had come to realize there was a part of Neal that needed stability in his life. When Peter had been chasing him, he'd thought the notes, cards and take out delivery had just been a cocky criminal taunting his pursuer but when the gestures, although limited by Neal's confined state, continued after the chase was over, Peter had been at a loss. It was Elizabeth who'd suggested Neal might not have been teasing him at all but instead may have been trying to connect with him in some way. It had made no sense to him at the time but now it did.

Neal had no home or family to anchor him; he lived a lonely, transitory life, full of fake names, fake friends and false impressions. The most consistent presence in his life was the Federal Agent who had pursued, arrested and then sent him to prison. Neal had wanted something real, something constant and sure, and for whatever reason, that was what Peter had represented to him. That was why Neal had reached out, laying the foundation for what they had now; a relationship so strong that each of them would die to protect the other.

Peter looked again at Neal, sleeping soundly a few feet away. He'd not been able to rest the night before, but he was making up for it now.

"It's not complicated at all," Elizabeth continued gently at his silence.

"It's simple, really; the two of you have something special; if I didn't know it before, I know it now."

So did he. He might not remember a lot about the past twelve hours but he remembered enough. Elizabeth was right, he and Neal did have a bond. If there had been a line he shouldn't have crossed with Neal, he'd crossed it a long time ago.

He frowned. The room was chilly and Neal, lying on top of the covers, was dressed only in a gown.

"You think he's cold?"

The slight tilt of Elizabeth's head and small smile told him she knew she'd made her point. Taking the blanket from the chair, she moved across the room and spread it over Neal. Though she took care not to disturb him, Peter saw Neal's body start, his eyes flying open in alarm.

"I'm sorry, Neal," Elizabeth said gently, placing her hand on his arm in an effort to calm him. "Everything's okay. We just thought you might be cold."

Disoriented and uncertain, Neal's eyes darted across the room and immediately fixed on Peter's. It didn't take words; it only took a nod of reassurance and Neal relaxed. A moment later, his eyes closed and he was asleep again.

Who was he kidding? Peter asked himself, watching as Elizabeth finished tucking the blanket around Neal's still form. What he and Neal had went beyond even friendship. It was more akin to brotherhood. Neal wasn't just a co-worker and he was definitely not just an asset.

For better or worse, he was family.