Neal was huffing for breath as the dentist hurried him along. They were on the fifth floor, and the gun's barrel had been shoved painfully into his back every time he slowed down.

"Ok, stop," Mitchell said finally.

Neal halted in relief and chanced a look behind him. The man was sweating profusely, already soaking through the doctor's coat. His eyes darted along all the doorways.

"We go out through here." He motioned to the door and Neal finally realized why the man wanted this floor. They weren't going to the lobby. The fifth floor had a semi-enclosed walkway that connected their wing to another building. They just had to walk across the bridge and then they'd head down to the garage or out some other door, and Neal would be stuck with this guy for God only knew how long.

"Why'd you do it?" he asked as they stepped out into the bitter wind. He was freezing. He'd left his coat behind in the closet with all of Shannon's stuff.

"The goddamn woman showed up 10 minutes early for her exam. She saw something she shouldn't have seen. I couldn't take the chance of her talking."

Despite the cold, despite the headache, despite the gun poking him in the back, Neal managed to be puzzled by this logic. "That's a bit … over the top."

"Shut up and walk."

Mitchell jabbed him in the back again and they jogged across to the other side. Neal went to open the door when Mitchell stopped him.

"Hold up. What's that?" He gestured at Neal's left leg with the gun.

"What's what?" Then Neal looked down innocently, and smiled his best "screw you" smile at Mitchell. "Oh, this little thing? That's my tracking anklet." He watched Mitchell's face go through several levels of realization and horror. "I'm a criminal, so I have to wear this. And I believe you've met Agent Burke? Yeah, he's my handler. Oh, and I forgot to mention: he's got this incredible app on his phone that can pull up my movements in real time. It's accurate to within a meter." Grade-A quality BS, if he did say so himself, and it did exactly what he intended. The dentist's grip on the gun went slack and he shook with rage.

"You son of a…" Darius Mitchell never got to complete his thought. Neal ran at him and knocked him off his feet with a shoulder charge. The gun went off and a wild shot sent a slug harmlessly into the cement somewhere as Mitchell hit the ground, his breath abandoning him with a whoosh. Neal kicked the gun out of his hand, ran to pick it up while the dentist was moaning, spun back around and aimed it with deadly accuracy as Peter came running out onto the windy walkway, followed by a couple of cops.

The warm grip of the gun was uncomfortably natural in Neal's grasp as he watched them swarm in and arrest the dentist lying on the floor. He couldn't move, though. All he could do was try to catch his breath and hold the gun on Mitchell. Peter approached from where Neal could clearly see him, and held out his hand.

"Neal, give me the gun," he said gently. "It's okay. We got him, and Shannon's safe," he soothed as he gently prized the weapon from Neal's fingers. The words were starting to penetrate, and he relaxed.

As Peter took the gun from him, Neal bent forward and put his hands on his knees. He knew he probably looked crazed. His hair had fallen into his eyes and his pale skin and rumpled clothes didn't help. But the full weight of Peter's words finally sank in and he came back to earth with a soft, relieved smile and straightened up. It was over. Peter smiled, too. He threw a warm arm over Neal's shoulder and led him away from the clamoring scene, back to the safety of the building.

"Nice job," Peter murmured as they made their way back up the stairs. "What did you do?"

"Tackled him," Neal said with a shrug.

"Did you play football in high school?"

"Nah. Track. I was a long-distance runner," Neal added with an impish grin.

"Talk about training for later life," Peter responded with a snort. Now that the chaos was over, he steered Neal out of the flow of traffic on the stairs and stopped their progress for a second to give him a quick once-over. He frowned. "Okay, when we get up there, I'll get someone to take a look at you." Neal opened his mouth to protest but Peter shut him down. "Don't even argue with me. You're dizzy. Did he hurt you?"

"He clocked me with his gun," Neal admitted. The look on Peter's face had him backtracking immediately. "Peter, it was no big deal. I didn't lose consciousness or anything. I just have a headache."

Peter still didn't look pleased. "Have you eaten today?"

"Does coffee count?"

Peter shook his head "no." "So after you get a check-up, I'll get your coat, then we can get out of here and have some breakfast, and then you get to explain why the hell you didn't tell me where you were in the first place." He gave Neal a little push between his shoulder blades to get him moving up the stairs. "And you're late, by the way."

"Late?"

"Yes, late. I was supposed to pick you up at 9. At June's. This isn't June's."

Neal rolled his eyes. "Nice work, Sherlock. No, we're not at June's. But, you will note, we're still inside my radius." He held out his arms as though accepting accolades from an adoring audience, and smiled brightly.

Peter shook his head as a grin tried to wiggle onto his face. "What am I gonna do with you? Come on, keep moving. It's cold."

"How'd you figure it out?" Neal asked as they slowly climbed the stairs to the next floor.

"I realized that the mob, or the NSA for that matter, was way too pro to pull a sloppy hit like that. Moz had the same idea. He filled in the blanks on the way to the hospital," said Peter.

"Mozzie's here?"

"Not for much longer." They both looked up. Neal's friend stood on the next landing, hands in his pockets, watching them climb. He smiled. "You should thank me, by the way. Due to the quick thinking of yours truly, Ms. Shannon Gregory was spared enough morphine to, and I quote, 'Knock out a horse.'"

Neal effortlessly got him started with a faint smile and a look of interest. "What did you do, Mozzie?"

"Oh, nothing too complicated. I just slipped in through the shared bathroom. You know, these criminals really need to think outside of the box. I mean, if I had to pull off something like this, then I would…" He stopped abruptly as both Peter and Neal smirked at him. With a little "hmph!" he trotted off down the stairs, heading for the lobby.

"You know, I think that one day I might just start to understand him," Peter said slowly, his gaze following the top of Mozzie's bald head as he disappeared.

"I still don't." Neal stumped up the final few steps to the recently vacated landing, and pushed the stairwell door open. The moment his feet hit the tile of the 6th floor, he called out in woozy delight, "Peter, there's an elevator!"

Peter just shook his head.

When they got back to the critical care wing, police and nurses and doctors were swarming everywhere. It was loud in the hall, and he could tell that Neal was getting a little overwhelmed, so Peter put a hand on his consultant's shoulder and guided him through the mess into an empty room up the hall from Shannon's.

"I'll go get a doctor. Sit. Stay."

Neal had no witty retort and just waved him off. For once, he didn't have to be told to sit still. First he hopped up on the hospital bed and sat down. Then he looked at the inviting pillows and stretched out on his back with a sigh, telling himself he was only going to rest for a minute. The next thing he knew, he was being shaken awake. He blinked up at the apologetic face of Dr. Sydney.

"Hi, there, Mr. Caffrey. Gotta do the 'doctor' thing. I hear you've had quite the morning." Neal attempted a charming smile and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He saw Peter standing in the corner of the room, holding his pea coat. "How are you feeling?" she asked, pulling him slowly into a sitting position.

Neal looked back at her. "Well, much better, now that you're here." She blushed as she pulled out a small penlight and checked his pupils.

"You're insufferable." Peter grumbled.

"And this is Special Agent Peter Burke. It's Peter's job to be a grouch," he said seriously.

"Mm hmm, I bet," said Dr. Sydney, a smile playing around her lips. She coaxed him with her hands. "Lean forward for me a little bit, please." Neal did so, and she gently palpated the back of his head, keeping an eye on his face. He winced as she pressed on a tender spot, and she let him back up. "Okay, well, your reflexes are fine. And Peter told me you didn't lose consciousness. Is that true?" Neal nodded. "Good. You have a tiny bump back here, but I'm not seeing any signs of a concussion. Just put some ice on it when you get home, take some Tylenol if you need to, and take it easy for the next day or so. You'll be back to saving anonymous damsels in no time."

"Please don't encourage him," Peter said flatly.

Dr. Sydney smiled and patted Neal's knee. "That was good work, Mr. Caffrey. And now I have to try to explain to my superiors how that no-good dentist got a hold of my ID badge, so I'll leave you guys to your business. See you later." She smiled as she exited the room.

The moment she was gone, Neal turned to Peter. "She likes me."

"You think every woman likes you."

"I don't 'think' it. It's a fact," Neal said with utter assurance. Then his belly started growling. He threw his arms around his middle in a vain attempt to muffle the noise, much to Peter's amusement, and he blushed faintly. "Can we eat now?"

Peter nodded. Neal took a moment to tuck in his shirt properly and put on the pea coat that Peter was holding out to him, and they headed back down to the café. Ten minutes later, they were melting into the upholstered booth seats and digging into a proper, if very late, breakfast. Two cups of coffee steamed on the table. Peter snarfed his ham and cheese croissant as Neal tore into a plate of scrambled eggs, hash browns, and two pancakes with maple syrup.

After a few minutes of silent, blissful devotion to this task, Neal sighed in satisfaction and looked at Peter. The agent was giving him a funny look.

Peter shrugged. "You're acting like you haven't eaten since… Wait a minute. You haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon. I got you Taco Bell last night, and you turned your nose up at the food."

"Yeah, well, calling that 'food' was a gross exaggeration," Neal said. "Besides, I've been busy. Do you want to head back up to Shannon's room after we're done here?" There was still more to eat, but he put down his fork for a moment.

In response, Peter held up a hand.

"Wait. Neal, we have got to talk about this. More specifically, we have to talk about Shannon." Neal didn't like Peter's tone, but he listened. "Her life could still be in danger. We stirred up a hornet's nest and destroyed her private investigation. She should still go into WitSec."

Neal sighed. "No way, Peter, she'll never go for that."

Peter blinked. "You've gotta be kidding me. Are you even listening to yourself? Neal, you don't know this girl. You met her, what, two days ago? And she's been unconscious for most of it, I might add." When there was no answer, he let his frustration show. "Neal … wake up. She's not Kate."

Neal physically pulled back into the padded seat behind him. Even though he could tell Peter was already regretting those words, he didn't care. He set his jaw and crossed his arms.

His voice dipped low. Now was the time to be calm and rational, despite everything that was itching to get out. "I know she's not Kate. But she's…" He blew out a breath and adjusted his argument. "We spent the last 48 hours delving into her life, looking at things she probably hasn't shared with anyone. She went after the mob, Peter. She investigated her father's death despite dirty cops pulling strings to keep her in the dark. She persevered when most people would quit. You're right, I haven't had a lot of conversations with her, but I know what she's made of, and someone like that would not be happy going into hiding." He looked down at his plate, realized his appetite was gone, stood up, and stalked out of the café.

Peter sighed and let him go. Neal still had a good chunk of breakfast left. The café manager passed by with an armful of dirty plates, and Peter asked him for a doggy bag.

After boarding the elevator for what felt like the thousandth time, he was greeted by the young cop from earlier, who bent the rules and let him go into Shannon's room. He even shut the door behind him. But despite the satisfaction of closing this case, the murder of Agent Gregory was still unsolved, and that bothered Neal. He sat down next to her bed and took her hand into his.

"Listen, I…" He faltered and tried again. "Shannon, I failed you. I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive me." He gave her hand a quick squeeze and laid it gently back down at her side.

Just then, Peter pushed open the door and knocked on the frame. Neal looked over at him. "Diana just called. She said that Mitchell was hurting for cash and decided to try his hand at prescription drug fraud and smuggling it on the black market. Apparently he was meeting with someone and Shannon came in early and overheard the conversation. He doesn't know if she knows, but he couldn't take any chances."

Neal shook his head in disgust. "There are so many smarter ways to make money."

"Yeah, not to mention lots of legal ways," Peter said pointedly.

"But not as fun. By the way, how did Mozzie save her?"

"The nurse said he pulled the tube free from her IV before any morphine could reach her system."

"Quick thinking," Neal agreed, but his tone was clipped and he pinned Peter with a flinty gaze.

"Um, about my comment earlier." Peter paused and pursed his lips. He didn't know what to say from here, really. Emotional stuff wasn't his thing.

Neal took pity on him. "Hey, don't worry. Heat of moment. I get it."

"Yeah, that's … yeah. We'll go with that. Listen, you should go home and get some real rest. I, uh, I got all your food packed up, so you can take it with you." He held up a bag with a plastic takeaway container inside, wiggling it enticingly. Neal said nothing, and didn't move. "… Or you could stay put."

"I think I'll do the second thing."

Peter sighed, knowing he was beat. He crossed the room, set Neal's food down on the rolling table, and then headed back for the door. "Fine, you win. Just try to get a nap, okay? I'll be back for you once all the paperwork and jurisdictional crap is taken care of."

"All right." The door shut behind Peter and Neal sighed and hung his head.

Peter didn't do "subtle" very well, but he was right. Neal knew he'd screwed up. He'd made the classic mistake of hitching himself to another person. People, as Mozzie had once famously said to him, were trouble. And he hadn't just fallen for a woman, oh no, he'd fallen for an imaginary woman. His handler's argument was absolutely on point. He didn't really know Shannon Gregory at all. To make things worse, reading people was his business, and he generally managed to stay aloof and inscrutable. So to screw up, be read that easily, and then reprimanded by Peter, of all people, was really annoying. This whole mess wouldn't have gotten so close to his poor, battered heart had he not made such a totally dumb move. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Peter's words came back to him.

She's not Kate.

And she wasn't. He sat there taking deep breaths and trying to master himself and fight down the sorrow, so he wouldn't completely freak out and lose it in a stranger's hospital room. Somehow along the way, Shannon had become Kate, and saving her would somehow do the impossible and bring back the woman he loved. He didn't know exactly when he crossed that particular loopy line of reasoning, but now that the case was mostly closed, the reality of Kate being gone was closing in again. He could feel that ache in his spirit settling in painfully, no matter what he thought about to distract himself.

"God, I hate this," he said to nobody, and put his face in his hands.

The grief, the sadness, the thousand flittering, trivial, unhelpful thoughts, the falsely hopeful what ifs and maybes… When all the horrors that he regularly pushed away came home to roost, and the truth pierced through all the lies he told himself to get through the day, it was hard. But he was in a public place, and a high-traffic area. He didn't have the luxury of sinking into despair and going off the deep end. That would never do.

She's not Kate.

Somehow, some way, he would move on. But not before Kate's killer had paid in full for his heinous crime. That would be the only way for him to be able to push past the guilt, push past the pain he felt every morning when he realized he would never be able to gaze into her beautiful eyes, or touch her, or talk to her ever again. If he had to spend his life in that pursuit … hell, if he had to give his life in that pursuit … then so be it.

When he raised his head again, he was surprised to lock eyes with a strong gray gaze.