Oh, my God…That episode, I loved it and hated it. I guess it's genius, the whole time I was like "It's not Peter, It's not Peter," and then it is Peter. My jaw was hurting when I finally shut it.

So, here's an inspired chapter. Thank you for the reviews, they inspire me to write and write better and make me happy. I especially want to thank Jules-Foil and Sirius7, both of whom offered me legal info, "Grazi." Anyway, enjoy and tell me your thoughts.

Finding Neal

Chapter 5: Tucked In

Elizabeth moved to enter the open doorway of Neal's room, but was stopped by her husband's outstretched arm, which he'd placed across her stomach, restricting her movement. She turned toward him, her mouth opening her to ask him what was wrong, but he stopped her once more, this time by placing his pointer finger across his lips, letting the others curl down, and tipping his head in the direction of Neal and – what was his name again – Mozzie. After Elizabeth got the message, the married couple leaned forward in unison and supervised – eavesdropped wasn't the right word – their son's conversation.

"Mozz, I can't believe you told them," whispered an angry Neal, who was sitting up on his elevated bed with a soft pillow placed under his back for maximum comfort.

"What was I supposed to do, Neal?" the recipient of his ire asked rhetorically from his spot on the chair that Elizabeth had resided on from day one of Neal's hospital stay. "They'd given you an adult dose of Lidocaine! You could've died and you probably would have if I hadn't told your surgeon." He paused, and then softly said, "Anyway, I don't care if you're angry at me because I'd rather have you alive and angry at me than dead and not."

"I know. I know," said Neal, his angry look melting away into a frown as he ran his fingers through his curly locks in agitation, "It's just that…," he sighed, "I thought this was over with, you know. I was actually okay with this: I didn't have to stay at the Supermax for my entire sentence and I don't have to do something that'll become tedious. Heck, I might even be starting to like it." Then chewing his bottom lip red, he, looking up with his blue eyes at Mozzie through his mop of brown hair, asked, " What do you think they're going to do with a minor, who they sent to prison and who escaped from it?"

"I don't know, Neal," admitted Mozzie, "But I know that it'll be better shorter than eight years, whatever it is, way shorter. You might even get rid of your anklet," soothed Mozzie.

"It's a tracker, Mozz, not an anklet," affirmed Neal, his usual exuberance shining through, before he advocated, "All I did was forge bonds and that bank should've been gratified because, like Charles Caleb Colton said in 1820, "Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery."

"Is that what you're gonna say in court?" queried Peter as he and Elizabeth finally entered the room after five minutes of quite "supervision."

Mozzie jumped at the interruption, "I knew you were there," he muttered at Peter after he'd recovered from the shock.

Neal ignored Mozzie, but didn't answer Peter's question either, instead with a straight face, he informed Peter, "Eavesdropping's against the law, you know." Then turning toward Elizabeth, he grinned a blinding smile, pearly-white teeth and all, "Hey, Elizabeth."

His blue eyes widened comically when he saw Elizabeth's bottom lip wobble in response to his greeting and then flitted over to Peter in panic, "Crap, what'd I do?" he asked, "Is she crying?" His question was answered when a teardrop, followed by many others, made its way down Elizabeth's face and he quickly placed his hands, palms-down, at his sides and made to push himself up. A second later, he crumbled down onto his side with a gasp of "Ouch," when his GSW made itself known.

He wrapped his arms around himself for comfort and whimpered as the pain that radiated from the right side of his lower back traveled up and down his body like molten lava that left a trace of fiery, white-hot pain in its wake. As the pain started to fade, he was aware of two hands on his body, one rubbing his upper back soothingly, while the other ran its fingers through his hair, moving his now sweat-soaked locks off of his face. It was when he could only feel the barest twinges of his earlier pain and when he felt like he wouldn't throw up the only thing he'd eaten all day: the Reese's that Joey had given him, that he attempted to open his eyes.

His eyelids flickered, coming to half-mast before flickering once more and revealing brilliant, azure orbs that had a glossy tinge to them. He blinked a couple of times to clear his eyes and stared at blue eyes that seemed familiar, before the person backed up, enabling him to see their face.

"Elizabeth," he tried to say, his voice cracking due to its dryness. "Water," he managed to croak after a bit of trying and before he knew it the hand that had been warming his back, soothing him, moved to gently help him up, while a third person brought him water. He quickly gulped down the water, following it with his head when someone pulled it away with, "Slow down, you're gonna make yourself sick."

Quickly recognizing Mozzie as the one who'd brought him the water, it took him a second to figure out that Elizabeth had been the one who'd ran her fingers through his hair, leaving Peter to be the one who'd been rubbing his back: the one who'd provided the most comfort. Turning his head confirmed his theory and his eyes flitted back to Elizabeth's smiling face, before he turned toward Peter and, tilting his head toward the man's wife, asked, "Is she pregnant? Cuz I could swear she was crying less than a minute ago."

Peter grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he did so, and answered, "Something like that."

"Oh, congratulations," he wished, yawning as he did so, "I'm sure you'll make great parents. When is court again?"

"Day after tomorrow," answered Peter, not commenting on the again part because Neal obviously wasn't at hundred percent yet.

Neal bid everyone, "Goodnight," curled up into a ball, and shut his eyes. As he shifted the little bit he could without hurting himself further, he tried to convince himself that Peter's brown eyes hadn't softened when he'd yawned, that both him and Elizabeth hadn't been staring at him as if he were something ethereal. It didn't take him long to convince himself and, as he passed on into dreamland, chiding himself for imagining things, he barely noticed his covers being drawn up and tightened around him or the three feather-light kisses that were pressed onto his forehead: he didn't notice himself get tucked in after so many years.

…TBC…

Thoughts?

Please R&R. Constructive Crit is always appreciated.