Thanks to all who are reading and reviewing my story; I appreciate each and every comment. It helps me keep motivated.

I've played fast and loose with medical protocol and procedures, so don't be too hard on me. :)

Chapter Seventeen

It was almost three when the nurse, Ashley, returned to transport Neal to his room. She unhooked the IV from his arm, leaving the line in place.

"You're fluid output has been good so we are discontinuing the IV," she explained to him, "We will leave the line in until we get the discharge orders-just in case something comes up, we won't have to stick you again." She didn't removed the oxygen tubes, however. Apparently they would be with him a bit longer.

Peter followed her through a maze-like path; she was skilled at maneuvering the bed around corners and through narrow openings. Arriving at her destination, she stopped in front of another set of large closed doors. She motioned to the waiting area, complete with snack machines and a television with closed captions broadcasting CNN.

"If you will wait here," she said, "someone will get you once he's settled in. He's in room 421. You'll enter here, then go all the way around to the left."

Peter did as he was bidden, watching the nurse press the silver access button, and the doors swing open. She rolled Neal through and they swung silently closed behind her. He looked around the area, trying to get his bearings; hospitals were always so confusing. The A, Azalea, Elevators were to the right. He sent a text to Elizabeth, giving her some directions and Neal's room number, but told her not to rush.

Shortly afterward, Ashley exited and stopped to speak to him before she returned to the ICU.

"We've got him moved, Agent Burke, but he asked for a few minutes before visitors were allowed back."

Visitors meant him. Peter had hardly left Neal's side since he arrived and last night his presence had been welcome. But now things were different, or rather, getting back to normal. The request didn't surprise him, but it did on some level hurt his feelings. Ashley must have picked up on his displeasure.

"He's had a difficult morning, and although he was growing increasingly uncomfortable, he was reluctant about his pain medication," she explained. "He said he didn't like the way it affected his thought process. I told him that after he gets something in his stomach, we can switch to oral medications; they have a less dramatic onset."

Of course he didn't like the way medication affected his thought processes, Peter thought, it disabled his defensive mechanisms. "Did he take it?"

"Yes," She confirmed, "but he insisted on a lower dosage than was prescribed, so his pain won't be as well managed."

Peter sighed. Neal was back to his old self after all.

She resumed her duties, and he took a seat. He would just wait for Elizabeth to finish her shopping so they could go in together. He saw the balloons escaping the elevator doors before he saw his wife. Her intentions to brighten Neal's room came in the shape of a flower arrangement in a small silver vase, with several bright colored balloons trailing upwards. One particularly large one had Get Well Soon printed on it.

"I thought you'd already be back there," she said. She handed the arrangement to Peter and shifted the other items she was carrying in her grasp. Peter was surprised she had managed them all as long as he had. She had a travel bag with what he guessed were Neal's things, her usual, oversized bag, and another bag printed with the hospital gift shop logo. Then, of course, the large arrangement had been balancing precariously in her hand. The gift shop bag appeared to be quite full; she had been shopping the better part of an hour. There was no telling what items she had decided Neal needed for his stay in the hospital.

"I decided to wait for you," he answered, pressing the button and waiting for the doors to open. "Neal is back to being Nathan and wanted some time to regroup before he had visitors. Go left," He instructed, "Room 421."

"Well, Neal can be Neal, or Nathan, or whomever he wants to be," Elizabeth declared, taking the lead with purposeful steps. "That really doesn't change who he is, you know, or what he means to us."

Peter was aware that Elizabeth had done a lot of soul-searching after she had found Neal in Paris. She hadn't been proud of the way she had behaved, and it had caused her to look back on her treatment of Neal Caffrey. Of their treatment of Neal Caffrey. She had come to blame him for complicating their lives with his past, with his antics, with his disregard for the rules. But whenever something happened and Peter was in danger, or trouble, she counted on him to do what Neal Caffrey did best; whatever was necessary to solve the problem.

And Peter knew he had done the same thing. He constantly lectured Neal on his character flaws, telling him he could be either a man or a con, but then counted on his skills as a con man to nab criminals and close cases. Neal had always accepted the Burke's as they were; he didn't judge or try to change them. All he had tried to do was please them. Mixed signals and ever changing expectations had put him in an impossible situation.

They had been wrong; she told Peter, and unfair to their friend from the very beginning. She had even gone back to Paris to tell Nathan Clay that in person; to apologize and ask forgiveness for her selfish behavior. I will never ask you to be anyone other than who you are; she had told him. He was family; he was always a welcome part of their lives.

Her acceptance of him was unconditional and that was her attitude as she marched down the hallway bearing gifts. Nathan Clay better have used his time wisely if he wanted his defenses to stand a chance against Elizabeth Burke.

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Neal was sitting in a bed that was much larger, and looked more comfortable, than the one he had occupied in the ICU. His head had been elevated, and pillows placed behind him so that he was fairly upright. He had done some grooming; his wayward hair had been smoothed down and the four o'clock shadow have been removed. Neal had used his time wisely; his demeanor was composed in spite of the oxygen tubes that still graced his pale face.

The room itself was larger, too, with a sofa and a chair in addition to the usual hard plastic one; a window provided an uninspired view of the city. The hospital over-bed table was positioned across his midsection; a large hospital cup with a straw sat there along with an open box lunch. Neal was frowning at the half sandwich he had just removed from the container, possibly debating whether to take a bite or not. He looked up when they entered; the scowl was replaced with a smile when he saw Elizabeth. His expression became more amused at the sight of Peter, trailing behind her with his dramatic cargo, trying to corral the balloons as he came through the door. Peter set the arrangement on the small table near the sofa.

"Elizabeth," Neal seemed pleased to see her in spite of his following qualifier. "You didn't have to come down here."

Neal looked better to Peter than he had, but he knew his appearance still carried somewhat of a shock factor for Elizabeth. The last time she had seen him, he had been charming her at the Burke house; he did look a bit worse for wear in comparison. She put her bags down and rushed over to the bed to plant a kiss on Neal's cheek. His face blushed just as it always did and Elizabeth ignored it. Just as she always did.

"I know I didn't have to come," She answered, "I wanted to. I was worried about you."

"No need to worry," Neal's smile faltered slightly. "I'm fine." Elizabeth's eyebrows raised at his words, indicating how little she believed him. He hurried on. "I'm just sorry I'm going to have to miss dinner with the Burkes." He glanced at the discarded sandwich, trying to re-energized his smile. "More sorry than you know."

She picked up sandwich Neal had been contemplating. "Is this ham?" She checked the contents of the box. "Soft and bland, but I'm sure the cafeteria has something acceptable and more appetizing than this. I'll go down and see what they have, but first," she retrieved the gift shop bag from the floor and placed it on the bed by Neal's feet. "I want to show you what I've brought you."

She began withdrawing the fruits of her shopping trip and explaining her choices; there were magazines and some basic care items. There were a toothbrush and toothpaste set, a comb and shaving kit. A soft blanket and neck pillow, and a package with a small, mask shaped pouch. Elizabeth tore it open. "It's called a Dream Pillow," Elizabeth said, holding it near Neal's face so he could have a whiff. "You wear it over your eyes. It's aromatherapeutic; it's supposed to help you relax and alleviate stress."

Neal looked like he needed some stress alleviated; there was a tightening around his mouth that indicated he was experiencing discomfort. Peter didn't know if it was the result of the lower dose of pain medication or Elizabeth's fussing over him that was taking a toll. "Very nice, thank you, Elizabeth," Neal said. "But you really shouldn't have."

"Also, Peter said you'd be discharged tomorrow, so I went by the Waldorf and picked up some clothes for you. I hope that was okay."

"That was very thoughtful of you," Neal replied, his discomfort growing, "But I'm surprised they let you in. Security there is supposed to be very strict."

"Being married to an FBI agent has its perks," She replied, stepping over and picking up the travel bag. "I brought your pajamas and tried to pick out an outfit that would be simple to put on to wear home. One other thing," She reached into her bag and produced a cell phone. "This was by your bed; I thought you might need it." She handed it to Neal. "Mozzie was worried; he called me this morning."

Her announcement shook Neal's already slipping composure; his eyes widened, betraying his distress. "I was supposed to call him when I got back to New York."

"When you didn't call, and he couldn't reach you…"

"He freaked out and called you." Neal shook his head, "I can't believe I did that to him; I should have had someone call him. I …I just didn't think."

"You have a pretty good excuse," Peter reminded him, trying to halt Neal's self-recrimination. "Elizabeth told him what happened and that you're going to be okay." He paused before adding. "But of course, he has to see for himself, so he's on his way."

"He's coming here?" That distressed him even more. "He shouldn't do that; He hates to fly," He had told both Peter and Elizabeth the same thing; they didn't have to come. It was good to know that Mozzie would get the same treatment.

"He was booking a flight as soon as we hung up," Elizabeth said. "I told him you'd be staying at our house for awhile, so he will meet up with you there."

Neal's eyes narrowed at her words, and his chin raised slightly, the emotion from mere seconds before vanishing as if they had never been. Peter had mentioned the same thing to him the night before, and he had seemed pleased. But even then, Peter had known that once he was feeling more like himself, he wouldn't be as keen on the idea.

"I have the suite at the Waldorf for another week, Elizabeth, I'll be fine there." His voice was calm but the way he gripped the blanket, pulling it upwards almost imperceptibly as he spoke told Peter was anything but calm. After two years of keeping his distance from everyone, the thoughts of being homebound with the Burkes for an indefinite period of time was filling him with apprehension.

"You'll need some help," Elizabeth said gently. "At least for the first few days. I know the Burke guest room isn't the penthouse suite, but…" She paused, then reached down and squeezed his arm. "I know all of the this-all of us-is overwhelming; You've been on your own a long time. But I promise, if you come home with us, just for a while, we'll give you plenty of space. We'll just be there if you need us."

She had read him perfectly and said exactly the right thing; his eyes wavered with uncertainty. "I don't want to intrude on your family." His voice was so quiet that Peter barely picked up his words.

"But you are family, Uncle Nathan," Elizabeth's eyes twinkled at the title, "You can't intrude when you belong there."

Peter had known that Elizabeth would be a force to be reckoned with and Nathan Clay, already worn down physically and emotionally, would have a hard time withstanding her kind persistence. Neal's eyes met hers briefly before he looked away, clearly touched by her proclamation. Elizabeth responded by giving him what she had promised; space.

She turned to Peter. "Let's go down and see what the cafeteria has to offer in lieu of this-" she motioned at the box lunch on the table. "Let's give him some privacy in case he wants to make any calls. Mozzie might not be the only one who would like to hear from him."

"You are so good," Peter remarked as they exited the room. "You knew exactly what to say to get through to him."

"It's really not that hard, Peter," she said. "He wants what everyone wants; to be wanted, to belong somewhere. No matter how hard he works to convince himself otherwise, that hasn't changed."

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They took their time and after Elizabeth looked through the menu and picked out some she thought Neal might like, they returned to his room. If Neal had made any calls, he had finished them by the time they arrived. Peter smiled when he saw the title of the magazine Neal was flipping through; Bon Appetit. He wondered if a GQ Magazine had been included in the stack Elizabeth had provided.

"This isn't likely to measure up to anything in there," She said as she sat the bag down and began to unpack, "but it's a better than your first option."

"I'm really not hungry," he admitted, laying the magazine aside, "but I know I have to eat. I was just trying to stir my appetite a bit."

"After all you've been though, that's not surprising," she commented. "I know you like pasta," she said, taking out a container and putting it in front of him, "This is Chicken Zucchini Penne tossed in olive oil and herbs. I also picked up this," she set out another container, "Cottage cheese and peaches." She added a roll to the mix, then provided him with plastic dinnerware. "See what you think."

He took a tentative bite of the pasta. "Not too bad," he offered a smile of approval. "Thanks, Elizabeth,"

"You are very welcome," she replied. When Neal didn't seem interested in further conversation, she left him to his pasta and busied herself putting away his things.

Elizabeth retrieved the travel bag and removed the clothes she had brought from his room. The pajamas, she placed in the drawer under the bed side table, along with what appeared to be underwear and socks. She then removed the travel outfit, smoothed it out a bit, and hung it in the narrow closet. She and Peter made small talk over the next few minutes, occasionally making an effort to draw Neal in, but he did not seem overly eager to engage. He seemed occupied with his food, but Peter was sure he had other things on his mind.

Elizabeth situated the other items she had brought him, briefly explaining where she was putting each item. The pillow, blanket and dream pillow, she put within his reach. The toiletry items she placed on the recessed sink.

Satisfied that everything was in it's place, she announced the time for her departure had arrived. She gave Neal a parting kiss on his cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" She picked up her own bag and turned to Peter. "I have your clothes in the car. Walk me out?"

"Peter," Neal finally initiated, "Please go home; I will call you when I get a discharge time. There's no use in you sleeping in a chair when you have a perfectly good bed at home. I'll be fine on my own."

"I know you would be," Peter conceded, "but I'm not going until you can come with me, remember?" He nodded towards the sofa, "anyway, I won't have to sleep in a chair tonight."

After saying goodbye to Elizabeth, he returned to find that Neal was not alone in his room. He had odd looking clip on his nose and was breathing into a tube. The tube connected to a machine that sat on a cart and a technician was monitoring whatever data was being gathered, and offering encouraging words.

"That's good, Mr. Clay," she was saying, "Keep it up. Just a few more seconds."

When he had accomplished whatever task had been set before him, she took the tube from him and removed the clip.

"How did I do?" He seemed a bit breathless from the exertion.

"Better than last time." She removed the mesh from the mouthpiece, disposed of it, and placed the apparatus back in its position on the machine. "And I think you experienced less discomfort this time as well, am I correct?"

"Yes," he answered. "This wasn't as bad as before."

"That's what we want to hear," she said, entering information into the machine. "Your lung function is improving. We'll continue these exercises while you are here and will give you some follow up one to do once you are released." She stood and used a hand held scanner to scan Neal's wristband. She looked up, seeing Peter; he had stayed quietly by the door while the tests were going on. "I see you have company."

She rolled the cart past Peter and with a nod, exited the room. She pulled the door closed behind her.

"Sounds like your doing good," Peter said as he moved into the room. He moved towards Neal's small closet, opened it, and hung an outfit of his own alongside the one Elizabeth had placed there. The small duffel he kept in his possession. "Do you mind if I take a quick shower? I'd love to wash off these layers of stress sweat I'm caked in."

"Is that what I've been smelling?" he asked, crinkling his nose. "Please do."

"Funny," Peter's tone was sarcastic, but he couldn't help but smile: it was good to see a little levity in the blue eyes.

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Things had been so intense during Neal's hospital stay, and even during Elizabeth's short visit that Peter was a little concerned about how the evening hours would pass once he and Neal were left alone. There had been a tension in Neal since mid afternoon, and even though he had lowered them on occasion, his defenses seemed to be back in place. The openness from before was gone, and Neal had grown quiet; Peter feared the awkwardness.

After his shower, he found Neal quiet and pre-occupied, the brief levity having faded from his eyes. He had picked up another magazine and flipped through it absently, not inviting conversation. Peter tried to break the silence with small talk, but his attempts were futile. Neal clearly had something on his mind and Peter felt his presence was adding to Neal's stress. He had begun to doubt his decision to stay when Neal finally put the magazine down and addressed him.

"You've been really good Peter, but let's have it. How bad did I blow it?"

"Blow it?" Peter, surprised by Neal's sudden willingness to speak, was confused by the question. "What are you talking about?"

"The operation, Peter." His voice was anxious, "They shot me, so things clearly didn't go as planned. So, how bad?"

It dawned on Peter; Neal didn't remember what had happened. He thought he'd somehow blown the operation. Peter left his chair and moved closer to Neal. "You don't remember what happened?"

"Let's say things get a little fuzzy after the box of severed hands were dumped on the floor," Neal retorted. "So what happened?"

"Box of severed hands?" Peter had heard a remark about hands, and heads, being cut off but somehow he'd missed that severed hands had actually been present at the gallery.

"Yes, severed hands all over the floor; it was pretty gruesome." Neal's tone was impatient. "Tell me what happened, Peter, what gave me away?"

No wonder Agent Elliot had been tied up all night. It would have been a crime scene and forensic nightmare. "Nothing gave you away," he answered, pulling his mind away from the mental picture Neal had inserted in his mind, "and the operation was a success; in fact, a bigger success than we could have anticipated."

"I don't understand," Neal said doubtfully, "If they didn't find out I was working with the Feds, why did they shoot me?"

"They weren't trying to shoot you, they were trying to shoot someone else and you got in the way." Peter reached down and put his hand on Neal's arm. "You shoved the man out of the way; you saved his life."

Neal thought that over a moment. "So Cordero's people don't know I was working for you, don't know about the tracking devices?"

"No, they're none the wiser. They just think Nathan Clay is a delivery man with an aversion to violence," Peter smiled, "You know, the sensitive, artsy type."

"I am the sensitive artsy type." He looked up at Peter questioningly. "So, you've not been sticking to me like glue because you think Cordero is coming after me?"

"Is that what you thought?" Peter asked, "That this was some kind of protection detail?"

"I know how you are. I was just happy you didn't have an armed guard outside my door."

"Well, now you know better," Peter said. "I'm not here to protect you; I'm here because you're my friend." He smiled "And if I thought you were in danger, I'd have had more than an armed guard outside the door; I'd have had an entire unit."