I apologize for making everyone wait so long for this last chapter. There's been a lot going on with the holidays (Mardi Gras) and today was the first day I've spent mostly at home for awhile. So, I hope you enjoy. And thanks to all my reviewers!

Before making himself known, Paul studied his brother. Peter was lying in the hospital bed with his face turned towards the window where noon sunlight lit the room. He looked tired, but younger with the sun on his face. Paul could just see the bandages around his shoulder beneath the hospital gown. His arm rested over his chest in a sling.

Paul took another step into the room, which Peter heard. He turned his head towards the door and smiled.

"Hey," he said, genuinely excited to see his brother. "Where you been?"

Paul shrugged. He pulled up a stool beside the bed and sat down. "Around. I…uh…well last night the doctor said that you were pretty much out of it so I just went home."

"Yeah, I really don't remember much about last night," said Peter. "Actually, the last thing I remember is riding my bike."

"Well, that's good," said Paul. "I can't believe Mom actually left."

"I told her to go get some lunch," said Peter. "And then Anne had to drag her away. I kept thinking she was going to burst into tears."

"Someone tried to murder you, Peter. And she's your mother."

"I know. But I'm alive." He still looked sheepish, though. "I really did scare everyone, didn't I?"

Paul nodded and looked down at the floor. "When we first found you, in the ditch, I thought for a moment you were dead. Dad couldn't even go down in there. I did. I was the one who went down to make sure you were alive. And there was just a split second…when I didn't know…" He sniffled. There was another sniffle and he looked up. Peter had tears in his eyes. "Aw shit. Here I am scaring you to death. I'm sorry, Peter. I was just scared."

"No," said Peter, wiping his eyes quickly. "It's okay. I know I was afraid, but I don't actually remember it. Does that make sense? I mean, I must've been afraid. But I don't remember it. I don't want to. Because I don't want to always be afraid."

Paul smiled. "You're okay, Peter. You're okay."

"What's that?" Peter looked down at Peter's lap where he held something folded in his hands.

"Oh," said Paul. "It's your hat. I found it on the side of the road last night." He placed it on Peter's lap.

"Thanks for cleaning it up," said Peter.

"And I found this," said Paul, holding up the gift from Peter. It still hadn't been opened. "I figured that I should open it with you. It's my first gift."

Peter smiled, obviously proud. "Well, go on."

Paul chuckled like he was a little boy again and started peeling away the paper. He revealed a cardboard box. He opened it up and pulled out a baseball. There was a signature on it.

"Mickey Mantle? Peter, how the hell did you get this?"

Peter was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "You remember how I went to New York City that weekend with Dad? About two months ago?"

"Yeah, and I was all moody because I couldn't go."

"Well, you had work."

"So naturally you get to go instead."

"Anyway…I saw that in a shop. And I bought it for you as a souvenir. Then I thought it would be better off as an eighteenth birthday present."

"So you've been hanging onto this for two months?"

"Give or take."

"Where did you hide it?"

"I put it in Dad's safety deposit box in the bank."

"So Dad knew about it too."

"Of course!"

Paul looked back down at the ball. "I guess I'll have to get a good case for it."

Peter smiled. "Guess what Mom got you?"

"You're kidding. So, did everyone know about this?"

"Just Mom and Dad."

Paul ruffled his brother's hair. "Thanks, man. This is something."

"Well, I always thought of you as something of a Mickey Mantle."

Paul snorted. "If I were that good…"

"I think you're good."

Paul looked at Peter funny. "You are too. Nobody around here can throw as fast as you."

Peter looked away. "Yeah, well, now everyone can throw faster than me. I'm done, Paul. I asked the doctor about it this morning. He said I certainly won't be throwing around a ball this school year. And I'll never throw like I did before."

Paul nodded.

"It's just…" began Peter, his tone bitter. "It's not fair. It's frustrating. I mean, I love baseball. I wanted to go to college with it and be like you and now…I can't do anything."

"It's a bad break, Peter."

"Bad break…" Peter sighed. "I can't even move my arm." He sighed. "I don't want to think about it. I don't want any pity either."

"You should be pitying me," said Paul.

"Why?"

"Because I'm going off to college where I'll have to work my ass off. And you…you'll just be walking through high school still. And I'm picking up your job at the diner now, too, so I don't have a free summer anymore."

"Cowboy up."

"Excuse me."

"You heard me."

"Cowboy up? What kind of saying is that?"

"It means—".

"I know what it means. But where the hell did you learn that?"

"Some movie Jimmy and I were watching the other day."

Paul frowned. "Cowboy up," he muttered. "If I ever hear you say that again…well if you ever tell me that again I'll—".

"What? I'm pretty sure that everything that can be done to me has been done. Besides, you can't hurt me. Not while I'm wounded."

"This is ridiculous," said Paul, standing up. "I'm outta here." He started to leave, smiling when Peter called his name.

"I'm just kidding. Don't go anywhere. It's so boring here."

Paul turned around. "Don't worry, little brother. I won't leave you here."

"Thanks," said Peter, sincerely, as Paul sat down. Then, he gave him a wounded look. "Could you get me some water, please?"

Paul grinned wickedly. "Cowboy up and go without it."

()()()()()()

Elizabeth had gotten an earlier flight than she had expected and arrived home at 6AM that morning. Not wanting to wake Peter so early on a weekend, she got a cab home. She unlocked the door as quietly as she could and smiled when Satchmo greeted her. He stretched his way towards the door, obviously just waking up. He yawned as Elizabeth bent over and patted him on the head.

"Hello," she whispered. "Were you a good boy?"

She shut the door behind her and looked up. She was surprised—and then not so surprised—to see Peter sitting in the arm chair, looking oh-so-handsome with his head back and mouth wide open. She rolled his eyes when she saw the files and papers scattered over the table with a few beer bottles. Typical. Staying up to ungodly hours of the night, working. Elizabeth sighed and hung up her coat.

That was when she heard a little sigh. She turned around to see Neal on the couch.

Now that was a surprise. There was no way Neal would have let Peter keep him for so long just to work on a case. Not unless it was a really important case. But over the phone it hadn't seemed very important at all.

Neal moved in his sleep and the book on his chest slipped to the floor. Elizabeth quietly walked over and picked it up. But it wasn't a book at all. It was the photo album. Elizabeth closed it, understanding why Neal was still over and the beer bottles were all over the place. She smiled.

Then, she got to cleaning up and making breakfast. No doubt all three of her boys would be hungry when they woke up.

THE END