Merry Christmas!! Happy Hanukkah!! Happy Kwanzaa!!! No matter which one you celebrate, here's your present. Right on time, too, I might add. I can't help it, I'm a procrastinator.

Yep, I'm evil because this is a leap, but I swear it's not my fault, its muse, he made me write this…hurt him not me. I will explain everything in later chapters. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this and have a happy holiday. Thank you very much for the great response to the story, it boosts my spirits.

P.S. Reviews are always considered gifts, if you catch my drift. ;)

Finding Neal

Chapter 6: Two Days and A Few Hours Later

The tremors in Neal's body increased as he heard the air conditioning come on and he tightened his arms around his bent knees, trying to curl himself into an even smaller ball to make himself warmer. His head rose up uncertainly revealing puffy, red eyes and tear-stained cheeks when he heard the creak of the door of the janitor's closet that he had holed himself into only God knows how long ago opening. The sudden light that entered the abandoned little area in the Manhattan Family Courthouse blinded him and he blinked incessantly in order to clear his vision

His arms tightened even further around his knees if that was possible when his vision did clear. Be careful what you wish for, he thought when he spotted Peter holding the aforementioned door open with his wife and Mozzie peering over his shoulder. Freeing his right arm from its death grip on his other arm, Neal quickly wiped the tear tracks off of his face, trying his best to not appear weak in front of the Burkes even though he knew that there was nothing he could do about his puffy eyes, and, completely ignoring Elizabeth and Peter, attempted to nonchalantly greet his long-time companion.

"Hey, Mozz," he croaked out, his throat feeling raw. That's great; my feelings could use the company. At that moment, Neal's teeth started chattering and his tremors increased exponentially in size. Mozzie, who was the only one who had the guts to face Neal after the events that had taken place in court, pushed past Peter and Elizabeth and made his way to the kid who he considered his own.

"Neal," he sighed upon reaching said kid, who looked up at him through red-rimmed eyes with the fakest smile that he'd ever seen covering his face. He hooked his hands under Neal's shoulders and hoisted him up, hmmpffing when the boy collapsed onto him and widening his stance to occupy him. Neal burrowed his head into Mozzie's shoulder as if looking for protection.

"Neal?" called Mozzie questioningly. He didn't get an answer, "You okay?" This time he got an answer, but in lieu of words he felt the curly head move so that the startling cerulean eyes were visible and capable of staring at him incredulously.

"Okay, stupid question," acknowledged Mozzie, letting the snort that came from the kid who was using him as a human pillow comfort him in the fact that despite recent events the little boy that he'd semi-raised from the age of five was not broken. "Speaking of broken," Mozz mumbled to himself as he shifted Neal so that he was holding him with one arm, then used the other to lift up the corner of the white dress shirt that Neal had worn to court. He turned so that Neal's back was facing the open door and, therefore, Peter and Elizabeth, then looked down at the thick strip of red-stained gauze that was placed over Neal's gunshot wound.

"You've torn your stitches," he told Neal, who didn't reply in anyway, no nod, snort, eye roll, or witty comment. "Neal?" he whispered, the worry apparent in his voice. He reached his hand down to Neal's neck with the intent to shake him gently but changed course when he came into contact with Neal's skin: it was freezing. He moved Neal to his other arm, being careful of his back, so that he could see his face. His skin was pale…paler than usual and his lips were tinged a worrying blue.

"Shit!" he exclaimed despite being one to not regularly swear. His unusual response had caught the guilty parents – Elizabeth and Peter's – attention and, turning to look toward them, he ordered, "Get an ambulance, he's hypothermic."

The next fifteen minutes were a blur to Mozzie, but he distinctly remembered shrugging out of his jacket and wrapping it around Neal, then, with the help of Peter, moving the unconscious teenager outside of the confines of the cold closet. Someone, probably Elizabeth, had called an ambulance, whose paramedics claimed that their ETA was five minutes. Meanwhile, he, Peter, and Elizabeth had huddled themselves around "their" progeny, who was dwarfed in four jackets, the last being the gray, pinstriped one that he had shrugged out of when he had entered the courtroom.

All he remembered from when the paramedics had arrived were the flashes of red and blue light that were visible through the translucent, automatic front door and the feel of Neal's rapid pulse under his fingertip s before he was yanked back. He'd struggled and an EMT, who appeared to be a few years older than Neal, had encouraged, "Sir, you have to stay back and let us do our job: let us help him."

Upon hearing that, he had voluntary stepped back and watched the proceedings in a daze. He'd watched from afar as Neal was hoisted onto a gurney and loaded into the back of ambulance. As one paramedic threw a bunch of blankets over him, while another checked the temperature of an IV before intravenously injecting it into Neal, while yet another had fitted an oxygen mask onto him.

He recalled the same EMT from earlier, the one who'd told him to let them help Neal, coming up to him, Elizabeth, and Peter and reluctantly informing them that only one of them could ride with Neal in the ambulance. In light of Elizabeth's tears, both Peter and Mozzie had made the sacrifice and followed the ambulance to St. Vincent's Hospital with Peter, being the calmer of the two because he was used to such situations, at the wheel.

The flashing red and blue lights of the ambulance made it easy to follow and soon Peter and Mozzie were pulling into an empty spot near the ER, while the ambulance pulled up directly to the door. The men quickly exited the car and rushed over to the double doors, where they spotted nurses wheeling an unresponsive Neal, whose hand was gripped tightly between El's, into the ER.

They got to Neal just in time for the double doors to shut in their faces. Mozzie couldn't help but think that this waiting outside worried for news on Neal's condition was becoming a disturbing pattern. The three adults stepped closer to the door in order to peer through the plastic, see-through part of the double doors. They watched as the staff quickly, but gently turned Neal onto his side and turned away politely when they pulled down his pants long enough to take his core temperature. They turned back when they deemed the time to be right and studied the staff's actions vigilantly.

Neal was still lying sideways on the bed, his dress pants pulled all the way up and was getting hooked up to another IV, this time with the nurse inserting a fluid, which Peter's keen eyes determined to be Thermal Angel, into the bag. Another blanket, this time a heated one, was added to the growing pile covering Neal and then the staff was exiting the door, each one walking by the worried party with the exception of the last person to exit the door: an elderly man with a short, scraggly white beard and warm, brown eyes that were somehow accentuated by simple, brown wire-rimmed glasses

…TBC…

Thoughts? If it sucks...I did write it almost at midnight. If it does, tell me and I shall try my best to rewrite it.

Please R&R. Constructive Crit is always appreciated.