The elevator dinged – and yes, the office was so quiet he even noticed that – and Peter rose to see who had returned. Diana, Jones, and Callaway emerged from the elevator along with three other agents carrying someone he hoped was one James Bennett.

The group left his sight, moving toward the holding cells and interrogation rooms, and Peter watched the empty hallway for a few moments before he began pacing. How long would he have to wait for some information? This was inhumane!

Taking a deep breath, he returned to his chair and tried to compose himself. He had read through his statement three times and was mindlessly flipping through Callaway's briefing pictures when Diana appeared, unlocking the conference room door and slipping inside. Peter switched off the screen and braced himself.

"Good news, boss." She smiled. "Caffrey's going to be okay. He was shot in the chest and he's got a tube to keep his lung inflated, but he could be out of the hospital in a week."

Peter returned the smile and relaxed in his chair, suddenly feeling exhausted at the release of tension. It wasn't the best of news, but it was leagues better than he'd been imagining.

"If Mozzie doesn't break him out sooner... And James?"

"We found him in a bar drinking away his sorrows; he's sleeping it off now. We've got his gun, swabs of his hands, and his recorded confession – he's not getting out of this."

Sighing, Peter rubbed his face with both hands and leaned back in the chair.

"Is there any chance I could get a celebratory coffee?" Usually there was some in the conference room, but only empty teacups and hot water had been present to taunt him during his sequestration.

"Even better," Diana opened the door and swept an arm out in invitation, "you can get one yourself. Callaway has decided you're safe to roam around the bullpen – just make sure you don't call your fixer."

She winked and left him to wander out on his own.

Peter savored his mug of Bureau coffee. It wasn't Italian roast, but it may just be the best cup he'd ever had.


Visiting hours were too short. At least Elizabeth had been there when she got the call that James had been caught and was lying in an FBI holding cell after drinking himself senseless. Diana had high hopes that Peter would be a free man the next day.

June had come by soon after Elizabeth left, though the space was rather crowded with visitors for two of the other patients in the room. She had assured him "Dante" was being kept informed, even if he wouldn't come within ten blocks of the hospital, and chatted about mundane topics until visiting hours were nearly over. The third roommate, alone in his corner, had broken through the din - laughing heartily at something on his television and startling Neal who had started to doze off. June had patted his hand and kissed his forehead, promising to return the next day.

Now he lay in the gloomy silence of early evening, waiting for his tray of questionable food items and the pills that came with it. His chest had started to hurt again and he fought the urge to rub it. The pain was making it hard to breathe, but not enough that he was willing to call the nurse in early. He tried to take a deeper breath and something stuck in his throat, setting off an excruciating coughing fit.

"Hey, man; you okay?"

The voice of his neighbor went unnoticed as he stared in horror at the dark, thick blood on his hand. The pain increased dramatically and he couldn't draw in enough air. He scrabbled for the button, knocking the remote off the bed and then fumbling for the one on the wall. He was getting lightheaded, vision blurring. Had he pressed the button yet?

Someone was shouting as his consciousness faded, then winked out.