A/N I failed to mention a couple things in the first chapter. It will be added for those newcomers to the story.

Spoilers: This takes place early season two.

Ratings: K+ for a few choice words along the way. References of violence. This is not a romance fic, there is no sex, slash, or otherwise. This is simply a borrowing of characters for an episode, and I will try to return them in one piece. :)

And last but not least! Thank you everyone for the reviews. I was getting worried as half the day had passed with no email notifications from FFN. Then I logged on a low and behold! Reviews! Story Alerts! Story Favs! It made my day, made me giggle, and made me realize just how addicted to reviews I really am. But also as a warning that you might not get notified that this story has been updated. And with that being said, Chapter 2

Neal stayed in the waiting room, but his mind wouldn't settle enough for him to read a magazine, and his legs wouldn't settle enough for him to sit down. Pacing, he fingered his cell in his pocket. The nurse shot him a dirty look as he passed by her desk for the thousandth time. He didn't even look at her; he could tell by the clicks of her mouse that she was just playing solitaire on the computer. The waiting room held a small smattering of people. A man in his twenties with a wrapped and iced elbow had claimed a corner. His iPod was cranked up to deaf by thirty and he was reading a trashy magazine. A middle-aged man sat next to his elderly father, who was wheezing into a handkerchief. An apologetic mother was bouncing a little boy on her knee; the child had flushed cheeks and a runny nose, and couldn't have been more than two years old. He kept yelling "a-BAH!" at intervals, and everyone else was giving them a pretty wide berth.

Neal walked over to a corner and pulled out his cell phone. There was something he could do, he realized. Dialing quickly, he set a text message saying, "An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend time with fools."

An instant reply, "Always do sober what you said you'd do drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut."

He texted back: "Call me."

Seconds later a call came in, and Neal put his phone up to his ear. "Hey, sweetie."

"'Sweetie?' Where are you?" Mozzie was slightly more incensed and excited than normal; "sweetie" was their code for "something is seriously wrong."

"About that book deal? Dr. Morgan won't put his name on it." - which was code for, "Need a History, At the Hospital, Need an ID on Someone."

"And you couldn't wait until morning to call me. You know, patience is the companion of wisdom." - "Are You Okay?"

"No." - ... "No."

Mozzie sighed, giving up on the code and allowing Neal the option of yes/no. "Are you hurt?"

"No."

"Thank God. Is the Suit with you?"

"Yes."

"Is he on the case?"

"Not yet."

"All right. Who am I finding?"

"The bartender at the Allegretto," Neal said quietly. "Need an address?"

"Never." With that, the line went dead. Neal smiled and dropped the phone into his pocket. Feeling better at having something in play, he finally managed to sit down and wait for Peter.

Xxx

"Listen, my CI is not involved in this case, other than being an eye witness to an attempted murder," Peter growled as he stalked after the detective. He had been debating with her in the hallway for the past few minutes; she was on her way to go interrogate Neal.

"Doesn't matter what you think of him. He's still the prime suspect."

"So what is this? Guilty until proven innocent?"

She turned around so quickly that Peter almost walked into her. He skidded to a stop as she poked her finger into his chest. "You know as well as I do that perps tend to return to the scene of a crime. Now, let me do my job." Her brown hair was pulled into a tight bun, the badge on her hip was polished to a shine, and she had crow's feet from years of narrowing her eyes at anyone who tried to play her for a fool. No nonsense, no bull, and definitely no guff. Probably one of the reasons crime was down, but at the moment she was barking up the wrong tree and it was pissing Peter off.

"So being a highly regarded consultant for the feds isn't good enough for you?"

"He's got a past record," she snapped as she turned back toward the ER waiting room.

"Yeah, for fraud. He's never even been associated with violent crimes."

"First time for everything," was her response as she shoved through the door. Peter shook his head, wondering what the woman was going to make of Neal. He followed through the door, hoping Neal didn't try to charm her. They found him a little ways up the blindingly white hallway, sitting on one of the hospital benches and staring at the opposite wall. He still looked a little dazed from his experience at the scene.

"Caffrey," she barked. That got his attention. He jumped slightly and looked up. Peter stood behind her, shaking his head 'no' and mouthing, 'Don't flirt.' Neal's eyes lit up with understanding as he addressed the lead detective.

"Yes. I'm Neal Caffrey. And you are?" He held out his hand in the customary manner, but Peter grimaced as Neal plastered on that trademark grin. This was not going to end well, he could feel it.

The detective ignored the proffered hand and pulled out a notepad and pen. "I'm Detective Tamara Marcelo, NYPD. I need to take your statement. Now, you said you saw two armed men drag the victim out and shoot her in the alley. What time was that?"

Neal didn't falter his charm any, just let the hand drop down to his side. "Actually, just to be clear, I only saw that one of the men was armed."

"Duly noted." She scribbled that down. "Time?" It was more a demand than a question.

"Probably about nine o'clock. I couldn't have been at the restaurant for more than half an hour."

"Okay. Let's start from you at the restaurant. What happened?"

"Well, she made me her signature drink ... delicious, by the way -"

"Neal." Peter shook his head 'no' to emphasize his point.

Neal pursed his lips. "We made small talk, then I took a phone call ... from him, actually," Neal pointed at Peter, "And when I got back to the counter, there were two men sitting there. They'd pushed my drink aside and one of them had taken my seat. The bartender looked busy with them, so I finished my drink, put on my coat, and took off."

"And then ... you returned."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Neal shrugged. "I honestly don't know. Something just kept screaming at me to go back, because something was wrong."

Marcelo kept questioning him and scribbling in shorthand. "Do you have any idea why they dragged her into the alley while she was on shift? When she would be missed?"

"Not a clue. I do know that she seemed nervous when I left." His face remained impassive, but his slight shift of weight betrayed his feelings of guilt to Peter plain as day.

"And you'd never met her before?" Her brown eyes bored into Neal, causing Peter to clench his jaw.

"Never."

The detective's face twitched; this wasn't the answer she wanted. "And you have absolutely no ties whatsoever with her? Nothing from your past?"

"Why would my past have anything to do with stopping at a random restaurant and getting a drink on a cold winter night?" He asked the question innocently enough that she couldn't call him on evading hers. "I work as a consultant for the FBI, and I swear to you, I've never seen her before. There would be no reason to kill her because of me."

"What about a contracted hit? Would you know anything about that?"

Peter watched as Neal's face twitched slightly, knowing what was coming next.

His voice dipped. "I don't deal with that kind of thing. I'm not an assassin."

Her face turned a shade darker than her already olive brown skin.

"Why don't we go down to the station and see if we can get a sketch of the suspect before any more feathers get ruffled." Peter pushed past the detective and grabbed Neal around the shoulders as an encouragement to lead him away from a brewing disaster, but Neal shrugged him off and stalked from the ER by himself.

Peter shot a look over at Detective Marcelo. "Meet you there?"

"Make sure he's with you when you arrive." The nurse buzzed her in and she scowled at Peter before walking through the door.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Peter sighed as he walked out the automatic doors. The sidewalk was icy and treacherous; he stepped carefully and glanced ahead at the sedan. Neal stood next to it, bundled up and staring off into the distance.

"Hey, it's unlocked," he called out as he approached. "Never had a chance to lock it. I know, it's stupid with all these criminals loose in Manhattan. Next thing you know, there'll be one riding shotgun."

Neal didn't acknowledge the joke. He just murmured, "Didn't even notice."

The FBI agent's face crinkled with concern as he lowered himself into the driver's seat. Neal never missed such an obvious detail. He looked over at his partner, who was clasping his hands and blowing into them for heat.

"Hey, you can't blame yourself for this."

"I missed the gun, Peter." He looked away out the passenger window, his voice soft.

"You had no reason to be suspicious."

"I should have been. I knew she was nervous; it was literally one step from the emotion to figuring out the reason, and I didn't take it." He started shaking his head in disgust. "Reading people is what I do, Peter. I screwed up, and she might die." His hands clenched into fists.

"Hey, maybe being around me is getting you soft." Peter tried to be supportive, even though he knew it was pointless to reassure Neal when the younger man was like this; the focused look in his eye meant that he was rewinding the night's events over and over. He had obsessive tendencies, no doubt, and he clearly wasn't over Kate yet.

"No. She tried to keep me there longer by offering me another drink. Me, a complete stranger. She was scared, Peter."

"Hey, their job is to offer you another drink. It's how they make money. And at least you came back, otherwise she would've probably died in the alleyway alone. With this weather, no one would be walking by, let alone a good Samaritan."

Neal looked over at him, eyes betraying the calm he had been pasting on his face since the ER. "There was so much blood."

His haunted stare was recalling more than the sight of the victim. Neal huffed on his hands again, and then Peter realized that he didn't have any gloves on. Looking over, he saw that Neal's coat was wet, and the felt material was covered in a dark, sticky substance.

"We need to get you changed," Peter said. "I'm sure they could wait a few minutes at the station."

"No, I'm fine. Let's get this over with." Neal caught Peter's gaze again. "Will you investigate this?"

"I don't know if I can. There's no reason for FBI to take the case."

"I want you to solve this, Peter. That detective…" He trailed off, but Peter understood.

"You don't have anything to worry about. The taxi driver's statement and the ticket stubs are enough for a solid alibi. The driver was there, right?"

"For a couple of seconds. I paid him when I hopped out. I was almost to the door when I heard the scuffle. I don't know if the cab was there when they dragged her around the corner, but there was no time for me to go in, drag her out and shoot her."

"And did you get help from inside immediately?"

Neal nodded heavily. "As soon as I hung up with you, I pounded on the door. I ran back to her, put pressure on the wounds, and someone came running out."

"Like I said, you'll be fine."

By the time he was done at the police station, it was almost 1:30 and he was exhausted. He dozed off twice on the ride home, a phenomenal feat considering Peter's driving, and barely made it in the front door. After fighting with his keys and getting inside out of the cold, he staggered up the stairs to his apartment. The blood-stained coat was probably ruined, and he didn't have the energy to deal with it right now, so he shrugged it off and set it neatly on the kitchen trash can. The fedora was tossed onto the table, and he collapsed onto his couch.

"You don't even turn the light on?" Moz grouched from the corner of the room.

Neal sat straight up. "Mozzie, what are you ... why are you hiding?"

"I'm not hiding. Merely enjoying the absence of light."

Neal ignored that. He wasn't up for a round of Deal with the Weirdness right now. "What did you find?"

"Not much. She doesn't even have a parking ticket. You should be impressed with what I've got." Moz cleared his throat. "Her name is Shannon Gregory. She's 26, grew up in Maine. Both parents were killed five years ago in a car accident. Only living relative is the uncle who owns the restaurant. He currently lives in Arizona due to health issues and the terrible New York winters."

"Can't blame the guy." Neal rubbed his arms unconsciously.

"Don't interrupt. She also has a younger brother ... one that she hasn't had contact with since he went to prison three years ago. He's been charged with numerous misdemeanors, but only convicted of one. And get this, her father was a suit."

"FBI?"

"Yep. He retired early; line of duty injury. Before that, he commuted so that his family could have a home in the country. And Shannon was on the fast track to life with a badge until she dropped out of college in 2005, right after her parents died. She used the money her folks left her, bought herself a nice apartment in Brooklyn, and then, 2006, poof. She falls off the face of the earth. I can't find anything on her since then. Not even a credit report."

"So, she doesn't have a record?"

"I just said, not even a parking ticket."

"So is there any reason you can think of for her getting shot?"

Moz shrugged. "The cure for boredom is curiosity. Maybe she wanted to see what life was like on the other side?"

"Maybe. Any financials?"

"By that question, I assume you're asking if she was hurting for money, and I can tell you, my friend, that in fact she is not. Owns her parents' home up in Maine, rarely goes there, paid cash for her apartment in Brooklyn, owns that free and clear. So we'll have to look in a different direction."

Neal nodded and looked at Moz like he was expecting to continue discussing this right now, despite his rumpled appearance and bleary eyes.

"Tomorrow," Moz added slowly, making his point. "Say, after 10 AM, and definitely after a shower and breakfast. You look terrible. Get some rest."

Neal managed a little smile. "Thanks again, Moz."

"Hey, it's better than Google." Mozzie chuckled nasally as he let himself out.

Neal looked in the direction of his bed. It was literally ten feet away, and it was too far. Too exhausted to even throw something over himself to keep warm, he flopped back down on the couch and closed his eyes. His body wanted to rest, but his mind kept going. It raced through possibilities and data, and sorted information and analyzed observations for a good fifteen minutes before he managed to shut off his brain's task manager, power down, and get some sleep.