A/N: So this blasted cold has made me ahead of schedule again, and I'm stuck indoors while the sun is shining and the world continues on without me. So, you can benefit from this boredom and get another chapter :) The reviews have been great and I have seriously had to consider going to RAA aka Reviews Addicts Anonymous! Note: this is a longer chapter than normal, but I couldn't really find any good breaks in it. So! Enjoy :)

Neal woke up with a crick in his neck, groaned, and blinked owlishly. According to the sickly green numbers of the digital clock on the opposite wall, it was 9:04. He had dozed off in the small chair with his legs curled up tightly for warmth and his head leaning to one side. As he blinked the last cobwebs of sleep away, he noticed that he was still holding Shannon's hand. A quick self-exam revealed that he had apparently looked pathetic enough for a nurse to tuck a blanket around him. Neal yawned and stretched until he heard his back pop. Despite everything, he had slept enough to feel that he could take on another day … right after a shot of caffeine.

Carefully unfolding himself from the chair, he stood slowly and looked down at Shannon, searching for any change from the night before. Her cheeks had some color to them, and she looked less like she was dying and more like she was sleeping. Neal approved. He neatly folded his blanket into a small square, deposited it on the chair and left the room, taking care to avoid all her monitors and their accompanying cords. The bright, glaring hallway lights made him squint as he looked around for the men's bathroom. The two police officers from last night had been replaced. Two fresh faces greeted him. Or, more accurately, two fresh tops of heads greeted him. Both officers were absorbed in their reading material and neither looked up.

"Hey, could you point me to the nearest restroom?"

"Down the hall and around the corner to your left," the younger cop said in a bored voice. He didn't even look up from his magazine.

Neal was glad for this. The events of yesterday and last night had really taken the starch out of his collar, and now that he was fully awake, he knew he'd be hovering between "crappy" and "barely functional" until he got some coffee in him. On entering the bathroom, he glanced in the mirror and saw that he looked like it, too. He took care of business, washed his hands, and tried to make himself a little more presentable. A quick, wet finger-comb partially slicked back his hair. After straightening his tie and fixing his collar, he splashed cold water on his face and wandered back down the hall towards the elevator. The staff, in their mercy, left him alone.

He was the only person in the car, so he stretched his arms as high as he could, touched his toes several times, and loosened his back for the entire ride down. The door dinged at the lobby level and he headed to the cafe. Usually Neal avoided hospital food and coffee, but desperate times called for desperate measures. The neon "Open" sign was flickering and a couple of the little neon dots had burned out. Despite the medium-sized crowd inside, he wasn't expecting much, but the counter set-up was a pleasant surprise. The place boasted a full coffee bar, and a bunch of freshly-made sandwiches, croissants and Danishes were lined up and ready to go in a refrigerated glass case. Neal could smell pancakes cooking somewhere, and the walls of the café were lined with plush booths. The line moved fast, and soon he was at the counter.

The man working the register grinned at him. He wore a dress shirt and slacks under his apron, his full beard was neatly trimmed, and he oozed class. Not wealth, but definitely class. "First time here?" he asked.

Neal nodded. "Yeah. I, um, I wasn't expecting this."

"Most don't. I've had enough bad café food to last me a lifetime, so I decided to fix that. What better place to do it than a hospital, right? What can I get started for you today, sir?"

"A double macchiato, please."

"Coming right up. Make yourself comfortable."

Neal walked over to the nearest empty booth and settled down with a sigh. It was definitely more comfortable than the chair in Shannon's room upstairs. Perhaps he could borrow this.

"Here you go, sir," the man behind the counter said, coming over with his drink. He set it on the table before Neal. "Total comes to $1.75."

Neal's eyebrows went up. "That's it?"

"That's it," the man said gently. He thumbed behind him at a small corner table. "Sugar's over there if you need it."

"Thanks. You're a lifesaver." Neal didn't need any sugar. He paid the man, took his drink, and headed out of the café to the elevators. Maybe he could find Shannon's doctor and learn if she was doing any better before the NYPD finally got the message that he wasn't supposed to be here, and threw him out. He stepped into the elevator car and absently pressed the button for Shannon's floor, still sipping his macchiato, and waited for the doors to close.

The gap between the doors was a foot wide when pounding footsteps and a frantic cry of, "Wait, hold the elevator!" jolted him out of his daze. He hit the button to open the doors and was soon joined by a breathless doctor in a freshly ironed white lab coat. Neal hit the button to close the doors, let the passenger select the floor right below the ICU, and waited, expecting a "thank you." None came.

So Neal turned to his fellow passenger. "Good morning," he said.

A stone face looked up at him. The man was about the height of Detective Marcelo. "Hello," was the terse reply.

Neal tried to cut the tension. "First day on the job?" he teased.

And the man finally sensed that something was amiss with his behavior. He relaxed slightly and ticked a nervous grin at Neal. "Sorry. Uh, no. Well, um, sort of. I have my first solo exam in fifteen minutes."

"Oh, what do you do?"

"I'm a gynecologist."

"Ah."

Silence fell over the elevator car. The door finally opened and the nervous doctor got out and headed for the big pair of massive double doors opposite the elevator. As the doctor was walking away, Neal looked above the doors and caught sight of the wing's name.

Radiology.

Neal winced. The poor guy was so nervous that he'd gotten off on the wrong floor. Then again, maybe Gynecology was somewhere beyond Radiology. He wasn't familiar enough with the hospital to be sure. He silently wished the doctor good luck as the door closed, and it opened moments later on Shannon's floor. Just as he exited the car and headed for the ICU doors, the NYPD officer on duty was ending a call on his cell phone.

As Neal went to open the door, the cop stopped him.

"Sir, I'm sorry. I've just been informed that the FBI has been pulled off this case. You have no authority to be here."

He felt his heart quicken just a beat. "It has?" He let his brow crease and his lips part just slightly in confusion. "Why haven't I heard?" Then he feigned realization, keeping his gaze on the floor and putting a hand on his neck as he sighed and answered his own question. "Damn it. My phone. It's been off all night." He made eye contact with the young officer. "Do you know why we've been pulled off the case?"

The man nodded sympathetically. "Turf war. The NSA came in and took over. We just found out about it ourselves. Do you want to go gather your things?"

"Yes, please." The cop escorted him through the heavy doors, and he smiled to himself. They'd let him in one last time, which meant he had one last chance to get some information before he had to go.

The officer held the door open and Neal walked into Shannon's room.

"Thanks. Oh, by the way, do you have the time?" Neal asked over his shoulder.

The officer checked his watch. "9:30, sir."

Neal nodded briskly and quickly reached the little sink area in the corner opposite Shannon's bed, where he'd laid out his coat across a small rolling table. He reached into the right front pocket and held down the side button to turn on his Blackberry, slightly chagrined as he did so. He was seriously late. And Peter had to be at June's by now, most likely seriously pissed off at repeatedly getting Neal's voicemail. But the pressure was on to eke out just one last little bit of information about Shannon's prognosis before the NYPD had to officially declare him persona non grata, so contacting Peter would just have to take a back seat right now. One job at a time.

"Has the NSA made any progress with the investigation?" he asked casually. The officer sighed and started to answer him, but Neal could only feign paying attention; he'd spotted a great prize. A small cardboard shoebox full of Shannon's belongings had been placed on the floor right under the rolling table. A small beaded purse glittered on top. He couldn't believe his luck. It would be incredibly easy to smuggle this out of the room. Sure, the FBI had absolutely no business looking at it, but Dr. Sydney had put him in charge of Shannon's things, so he decided that would be his excuse if he got caught. He made a small show of fumbling with his pea coat and dropping it on the floor, using the opportunity to spread it across the top of the box. He gathered up everything in his arms and started confidently towards the guard.

"… so the bottom line is, they haven't," the officer finished. "Not that they would bother to keep us lowly bodyguards in the loop," he groused. "Everything I know about the case, I found out from the last shift."

Neal nodded at the cop with weary disgust, like he too was just an ordinary Joe caught up in this mad, mad world, and wasn't that disrespect from an outside agency a cryin' shame. Just then, voices rose outside in the hall. The young cop held up a hand to Neal in one of those official-looking, "stay put for your own safety" gestures, and unlatched the gun at his hip with his other hand as he jogged out of the room. The door swung shut. Neal peered out the small window. Two nurses were arguing loudly over a chart outside, and the cop was heading over to them. He wouldn't get a better chance.

He slipped out of the room and headed down the hallway away from the scene, hoping to find Dr. Sydney and maybe get some more news on the patient, only to see someone sporting a white doctor's coat disappear around the corner. Neal followed. If nothing else, perhaps this person could tell him where Dr. Sydney was. As he came around the bend, he saw the doctor hurrying to push open a door and disappear inside. That wouldn't have made any impression on Neal … were it not for the fact that he recognized the doctor.

Neal stopped dead. It was that lost, nervous gynecologist who'd accidentally gotten off at Radiology a few minutes ago. And now, he was on the ICU floor. The hairs on the back of his neck started to prickle. Clearly this man was an impostor, but what was his game?

And then, out of the blue, he put it together. It was the old trick of ignoring a conundrum and letting your subconscious work at it. Neal had been letting go of the night Shannon almost died very hard, and this mental breathing room paired with the sighting just now gave his memory a sudden jog. He let the images hit him flash by flash, and suddenly the hazy events of that night were crystal clear. The faces he could almost remember but not quite snapped into focus. Little details like the type of buttons on their jackets came back to him. He once again knew the number of little creases around Shannon's eyes when she'd made her silent plea for help.

The "gynecologist" was the same man who had pushed his drink aside at the bar.

Reeling from this information, he turned on his heel and quickly headed back towards the part of the ICU under armed protection. He made it about five steps before the very cold barrel of a gun was jabbed into his side.

"Don't make a sound." The short man hissed through his teeth. "Back this way."

Neal turned, not sure where to go.

"In there." The man pushed him over to a nearby door. Neal slowly walked into a small storage closet, taking care to stop shy of the buckets and mops at the back. He turned around, still holding his coat and the box full of Shannon's belongings, and looked straight into the eyes of the man who had started all of this. His jaw ticked when he realized what was about to happen.

"You don't have to do this, you know," he said tightly, putting some convincing fear in his eyes and trying to look as harmless as possible.

"Shut up and turn around."

Neal didn't know what to expect. Maybe he'd have pity and just lock him in? He sighed and made sure to shake a little bit as he followed the order, trying to tip the odds in his favor.

The blow took him by surprise. Neal slumped to the ground with a moan, and the door snicked shut.

Xxxxx

Peter knew Mozzie was really worried about Neal. It was the only reason he would ever ride in a Fed's car. He didn't go quietly, though. Five minutes from the hospital, Mozzie was still muttering about the secret tracking and monitoring capabilities of Peter's Taurus. Peter had been ignoring the paranoid rambling for most of their trip.

"Is this car bugged? What am I saying? Of course it's bugged. It's probably measuring my heartbeat and blood pressure right now and putting it on record for when they give me an LDT." Moz was sweating profusely and his eyes were darting back and forth.

Peter looked at him. "What? LDT?"

"Lie detector test."

"Ah. Well, I'd think a man of your capabilities could…"

"Pass the test? Oh, you couldn't be more right on that one, until now. If the car's bugged, and of course you wouldn't tell me if it was, they just got all of my biometric readings from the secret measuring instruments in the front seat."

Peter rolled his eyes. As annoying as it was, he knew that the little guy was just trying to distract him. Diana was currently getting the arrest warrant for Dr. Mitchell, so they'd be ready to go find him once they collected Neal from the hospital, but while Peter was silent about it and Mozzie was very vocal, they were both stewing about Neal. It was now 9:50 and there was still no word from him. Neal had a laundry list of faults, but tardiness and a lack of common courtesy weren't on it. If he'd been able, he would have braved a few minutes in the cold winter air and made a phone call … which meant that for some reason, he wasn't. Just the idea of Neal being incapacitated in some way made Peter's guts twist, so he allowed Mozzie's eloquent ranting and raving to distract him once again.

"Not only do they have that, but they now know how far they can torture me before my body can't handle any more. … What?" The little man blinked behind his glasses, interrupted by Peter's glare.

"Are you finished?"

"I most certainly am not. I'm only here because of Neal and –"

"You're not going to let me forget it. Yeah, I got that part."

Mozzie opened his mouth to rebut.

"And before you continue, we're here," Peter said as he put the car in park. He'd pulled into one of the spaces reserved for police and emergency vehicles. Mozzie blasted out of the Taurus and ran into the building before Peter could even get the key out of the lock. It said a lot about Mozzie and Neal's friendship that Mozzie was willingly running headlong into a hospital after him. When Peter finally caught up to his passenger in the lobby, the elevator doors had already started to close. He ducked into the elevator beside Mozzie, breathing a little hard from his run through the icy air.

"Here's an idea. When you think someone's in danger, hold the elevator for the guy with the badge."

"Oh, right, like I want to be associated with Suits. Can you imagine the stain on my record if that got out?"

Peter ignored the first remark, because he curious about the second. "Criminals keep records?"

"Nope." Mozzie pressed his lips together and refused to say any more on the topic.

The elevator opened on the ICU floor to reveal an antsy "lawyer" and a frazzled agent.

"For the record, I hate hospitals," Mozzie muttered as he passed by Peter to enter the Critical Care Wing. Peter rolled his eyes as he followed. Silence descended on the hallway as everyone stopped to look at them. One of the cops posted by Shannon's room was very agitated as he approached them, accurately sizing Peter up as someone with information.

"Do you know where Agent Neal Caffrey is?" he asked, voice deep and serious.

Peter flashed his badge. "That's why I'm here, actually. Special Agent Peter Burke, FBI. And Caffrey's not an agent, he's a consultant."

"But you trust him, right?"

Talk about a loaded question. Peter nodded.

"Well, Agent Burke, he came in here to gather his belongings and then he disappeared, along with some evidence."

Peter sighed. Leave it to Neal… He could feel a headache starting. "What did he take?"

"He walked out with a box of items belonging to Shannon Gregory. I don't know what his interest was with the box, but as far as I know, the FBI isn't allowed to have it, and we've been looking for him for fifteen minutes. We haven't been able to find him. Gave his description to security downstairs, and they didn't see him leave the building."

Peter's eyes narrowed as he ran them over all the faces in the room. "Who was the last person to see him?"

The cop standing in front of him responded. "I was, sir. At first I thought he just took his coat and left, but when I saw Miss Gregory's things were missing, we all started looking for him."

Peter felt a pang of pity for the young officer. This goof-up on his watch was not going to look good in his file, especially since walking away with stolen goods was a big part of Neal's skill set. Peter put his hands on his hips. "All right, look, I know this is going to be difficult for you to swallow, but Neal's not the bad guy. He probably didn't go far. What was happening when you last saw him?"

The officer hoisted his pants up a little as he explained. "Well, I was told the FBI was no longer working the case and I had to escort Mr. Caffrey out. He asked to collect his things. I walked him into Miss Gregory's room, because, you know, he spent the night at her bedside. Anyway, he was walking over to get his coat when I heard two nurses going at it outside, so I went to talk to them about the noise, and when I walked back into the room, he was gone. We've searched the whole floor and the adjoining rooms. Nothing."

Peter glanced back at Mozzie to get his take on this, when he noticed that Mozzie had disappeared into the nurse's break room, and was rummaging around. Peter kept his face calm and continued to interview the officers. That man was a damn liability, but thankfully he hadn't introduced him or made it clear that they were here together, otherwise this could have turned ugly.

"Did you check all the restrooms? I mean in the whole building, not just on this floor."

The cop raised his eyebrows at that suggestion, and walked away pulling out his radio. Peter turned and entered Shannon's room. A doctor stood there at her bedside, checking the chart. He glanced up at Peter.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

Peter dutifully flashed his badge again. "Yeah. FBI. I'm looking for Neal Caffrey. Have you seen him recently?"

"Is that the guy the cops have been searching for? No, I haven't, but word is, the FBI has no jurisdiction here." The doctor sounded bored and went back to scribbling something on the chart.

"I'm not here regarding Miss Gregory's case. Just here to collect my consultant."

"Oh. Well, sorry I can't be of more help. We've been very busy, what with that big car accident early this morning." His tone was cold as ice, and Peter started getting a funny feeling about this guy. The famous Burke Gut was at work. He decided to test it.

"How is she?" he asked, motioning at Shannon.

"Better. We expect her to wake soon, and then we'll take it from there."

Peter nodded. "Good, good. Listen, I might not be working the case anymore, but I have to thank you doctors for saving her life. That was excellent work. What was your name again?" He gave the doctor a subtle once-over, looking for a name tag.

"Oh, I forgot to put this on." The man pulled it out of his pocket and fussed with the clip, keeping most of the letters out of view. "Dr. Angelo Sydney. I hope you find Mr. Caffrey." It was less of a well-wish and more of a curt dismissal.

Peter backed out into the hallway. The cop was talking to one of the nurses, who looked flustered.

"Did you find Caffrey yet?" he interrupted.

"No," said the cop.

The nurse butted in, "Agent, I just checked the drug lock-up, and there's enough morphine missing from the rack to knock out a horse. There's no reason for it to be gone. No one can account for it."

Dr. Sydney walked past just then, head turned away from them, heading briskly down the hallway and around the bend. The nagging feeling in Peter's gut was coalescing into something real and pressing. He eased away from the crowd and followed the doctor just closely enough to see the door to the storage room close. Instinct had him pulling his gun as he quickly opened the door. For a moment he was relieved. Neal was standing there, squinting in the sudden light. He looked slightly dizzy and unhappy about things, but otherwise no worse for wear, and Peter lowered his weapon.

"Neal, thank God. What happened?"

As Peter pushed the door open wider, he saw the muzzle of a gun press into Neal's temple, and there was no need for Neal to explain.

"Back away. I am leaving this hospital a free man," said a voice in the darkness.

Peter raised his weapon again, and Neal indicated his approval with a small nod. "We've got you, Dr. Mitchell. It's over," Peter announced.

The man started at the use of his real name. "How did…"

"Your tag says Angela," Peter said flatly. "And we know that you put the word out on Shannon Gregory."

"Lower your weapon, Agent Burke, or you'll be wiping your consultant's grey matter off the back shelf. And you better call off the NYPD. Back up." The man motioned him back with a short jerk of his other hand, and Peter slowly did so.

Neal sighed. "Have I mentioned how much I hate guns?"

"Shut up. And you, kick your weapon down the hallway." He ordered. "Now," he growled out, pressing the muzzle hard into Neal's temple when Peter didn't immediately respond. The FBI agent ruefully put his weapon on the ground, not once losing eye contact with his wincing consultant, and slid it down the hallway.

"What did you do to Shannon?" Neal asked quietly.

"I made sure that she'll never snitch on me. Don't worry, she's gone peacefully. But you. You just had to figure everything out, didn't you?" He shoved the gun hard against Neal's aching head again, and manhandled him out of the closet. Neal stumbled. "Ha? Didn't you?"

"Well, maybe if you hadn't been such an idiot about the whole thing, it would have gone more smoothly. What'd she do to you, anyway?" Neal pressed back with his words as he regained his balance. He couldn't see the dentist, but his gaze was ice cold anyway.

"Neal," Peter warned, and shook his head. Honestly, sometimes he wanted to just shake the kid.

Fortunately, Mitchell wasn't paying attention to Neal. "Get out of here right now," he commanded Peter. "We're going, and you're not following." He waited for Peter to put his hands up and slowly back around the corner before dragging Neal backwards to the stairwell, using him as a shield.

Peter called out to get everyone's attention as he bolted for the nurse's station. "Check on Shannon Gregory immediately! Officer, call off everybody in the lobby and tell them to get out of sight. We have an armed man heading down the east stairwell, and he's taken a hostage. Get your guys to watch all the exits, and call for back-up right away." The cop nodded, and Peter was about to run for the stairwell when Mozzie burst out of Shannon's room, breathless and holding a syringe, to the fluttery surprise of a few nurses.

"Suit, I saved her! Go!"

Peter ran.

A/N: Okie dokie! *rubs hands together* It's starting to get fun now!