A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I've had a crap storm hit this past week and I haven't had the chance to work on this. But the good thing about crap storms is that they inspire a lot of anger and stress which make great bed fellows with writing. I hope you enjoy this wrap up chapter and thanks for sticking with me for as long as it took to finish this story!

Peter was not a happy camper.

Over the last two days, he'd been interrogated and questioned like a common criminal. He'd been threatened with aiding and abetting charges, not to mention the suspension and demotion rumors that were floating around the office. But he knew it was just protocol and that no one who really mattered believed that he'd willingly helped the Russians. What bothered him was that he'd had to leave the hospital.

It'd been two days since Neal's surgery, and even though he'd opened his eyes several times, he'd never truly woken up yet, never long enough to string a coherent sentence together or smile and reassure Peter and Elizabeth that he was, in fact, alright.

Peter was determined to be there when Neal woke up for real. That was why this meeting was such an inconvenience. If it had been anyone other than Hughes to ask him to come in, Peter would have told them to stick it where the sun didn't shine. But he respected Hughes too much. And the older man knew Peter wanted to be by Neal's bedside. He wouldn't call him in for nothing.

Practically running, Peter breezed passed the desks and up the stairs to Hughes' office, irritated to find his boss on the phone. Impatiently, Peter shut the door and rocked on his heels, ignoring Hughes gesture to the chairs. He wasn't planning on being here long enough to get comfortable.

Finally, Hughes hung up the phone and quietly studied Peter, "How have you been?"

Peter bit back a frustrated sigh, "If that's all you wanted to know, you could have called me."

"I thought you'd want to hear this in person," Hughes said, rounding the desk and leaning against it, "It's been dropped."

Peter's eyebrows nearly hit his hair line, "Everything?"

Hughes nodded, "Even for Caffrey. No charges or disciplinary actions. You're both in the clear."

"Why?" Peter asked cautiously, "Don't get me wrong, I don't want to have to deal with any more of this, but OR couldn't have just decided to let it go that easily."

"They weren't going to," Hughes picked up a remote control from his desk, "but then this came in early this morning."

Peter turned as Hughes pressed a button, turning on the mounted flat screen television. A moment later, the black screen cleared, revealing Inna sitting in a rickety chair, a lit cigarette dangling between her fingers, the smoke curling lazily towards the ceiling.

"This is a confession. I am making this statement to clear the names of Agent Peter Burke and Mr. Neal Caffrey," she inhaled on her cigarette, smirking at the camera, "You might want to get comfortable. This is a very long story."

Hughes froze the screen, "She goes on to explain every detail of their plan and how she used you and Caffrey against your will to execute it. She even sent this."

Peter accepted the file Hughes handed him, thumbing through the stack of papers, "What is it?"

"A complete record of Dmitri Golovan's criminal activities. Everything we need to nail him, and from a quick glance, maybe a few of his contacts, too."

"Why would she do this?" Peter muttered, "I don't understand."

"You;re guess is as good as mine, but if anyone has a chance of understanding anything about this woman," Hughes said, clapping Peter on the shoulder, "it'd be you."

Peter slid the file onto the desk, shaking his head. At least it was one less thing to worry about, one more thing he could take off of Elizabeth's mind. But it bothered him that Inna would do this. Just when he thought he'd figured her out, she threw a curve ball at him.

"There's something at the end that she wanted you to see."

Hughes handed him the controller and quietly shut the dor behind him. After a moment of indecision, Peter fast forwarded to the last few frames and hit play.

Inna was leaning forward in her chair, her elbows resting on her knees and her cigarette nearly burnt down to the filter, her eyes never locking with the camera. Peter saw every hagard line in her face, every weary flicker in her dull eyes. But there was something different in her expression. Something he couldn't put his finger on.

"I know it won't mean anything to you, but I'm going to say it anyway. I am sorry. Not for what I have done; I cannot tell you I wouldn't do it again if I had the chance, because that would be a lie. But I am sorry for involving you, for what happened to Neal. If I could change that, I would," Inna tapped the ash off the cigarette, took one last drag, and tossed it to the floor, finally looking at the camera, "It may repulse you, but I consider you and Neal and Elizabeth to be my friends. And I do not abandon friends."

Then slowly, stunningly a smile split her face and reached her eyes, and Peter knew exactly what was different about Inna.

"Take care, Agent Burke. We'll be watching you..."

She was free.

"Dasvidaniya."

The moment Neal woke up was the moment Peter walked into the hospital room and enveloped Elizabeth in his arms. As awareness came back to Neal through a drug-induced haze and the dull ache of an unidentifiable pain, Neal waited for his eyes to adjust and take in the room. He didn't know where he was or what had happened. There were bits and pieces of memories, fragments floating behind his eyes like the pieces of a puzzle, but mostly he just remembered pain and blood.

But the moment his eyes landed on Peter holding Elizabeth so lovingly, so naturally, the unanswered questions didn't matter anymore.

It was reassuring and normal, something that he'd seen a hundred times, but it meant everything was right with the world. If Peter was hugging Elizabeth, and Elizabeth was smiling up at him, then nothing was irrevocably wrong. Nothing was broken that couldn't be fixed.

"Care to share the love?" Dear God, was that his voice? It sounded like he'd swallowed an hourglass of sand.

His rough words brought an abrupt end to the couple's embrace. They spun away from each other, Elizabeth falling to the chair beside his bed, grabbing his hand between both of hers, and Peter standing on the other side of the bed, brushing his hand across Neal's disheveled curls and resting it on his head.

"Neal, thank God," Elizabeth said through a wavering smile, her eyes suddenly wet, "We were so worried."

Neal squeezed her hand, "Couldn't tell. What happened?"

"What do you remember?" Peter asked.

Neal closed his eyes briefly, trying to call up the last full memory he had. What he saw was Inna, laying on the ground, one hand around her tender throat, the other reaching out for him as a look of horror and rage colored her face. And then he felt the pain, white-hot and blazing through his shoulder and chest. Then there was only blackness.

"Neal?" Peter asked nervously.

"I got shot," Neal muttered as he opened his eyes, "for real this time."

He felt Elizabeth tense and regretted his words. He didn't mean to upset her any more than she'd already been. Peter sighed above him.

"Yeah, you did. Nearly died. Took you two days to wake up."

"Two days?" Neal repeated weakly.

"You were being stubborn," Elizabeth smiled, "You just wanted to make us worry."

"You caught me," Neal smirked, forcing his heavy eyes to stay open, "What happened with Inna and the others?"

"They're gone, Neal," Peter said, "They got away."

Neal nodded, not saying anything, but secretly sighing in relief. He doubted Peter would understand, might even think Neal agreed with what the Russians had done. (He didn't as he abhored violence, though for some reason it seemed to love him.) What Peter didn't understand, and probably never really could, was what it meant to be haunted by demons and finally rid yourself of them; he didn't understand what it meant to fight for your freedom and actually win.

"You should rest," Peter said, pulling up a chair without removing his hand from Neal's head, "You've still got a lot of recovering to do."

"Hmm," Neal murmured, his eyes fluttering closed, "You don't have to stay. Should go home."

"Forget it," Peter said as Elizabeth tightened her hold on Neal's hands, silently agreeing with her husband, "We aren't going anywhere."

It occured to Neal as he finally gave in to sleep, that this scene was just as natural as Peter holding Elizabeth, the two people he cared for most on either side of him, refusing to leave him alone, for his comfort and their own. His body may be broken, but with his family surrounding him, it was nothing that couldn't be fixed.

Four weeks later found Neal resting comfortably on the Burke's couch as Elizabeth made coffee in the kitchen. Peter was on his way home from the office after a rather boring day of mortgage fraud cases. Neal didn't envy him, but he was restless. Four weeks of healing meant his shoulder felt fine aside from the dull ache and the occasional stab of pain when he moved it wrong. But it was also at the dangerous phase, if you listened to his doctor. Because it didn't hurt badly, Neal would think he could use it more, but that would hinder its healing process. It was a vicious cycle. And it made Neal antsy.

"Here you go," Elizabeth grinned, setting a mug in front of him and a plate of cookies.

"Thank you, but you don't need to spoil me," Neal said, blowing tentatively on his steaming mug.

"I'm allowed to," Elizabeth protested, sitting next to him and wrapping a throw pillow close to her chest, "I've barely seen you these last few weeks while you were recovering. It's my turn to coddle you."

Neal knew better than to argue with her. It was true that he'd become some what of a hermit while waiting for his injuries to heal. It was easier to do nothing than pretend he was fine. So he slept and ate and let June baby him, only seeing Peter and Elizabeth when they dropped by after work. Today was the first day he'd ventured outside, and he had to admit, it felt good to stretch his legs.

"How have you been?" Neal asked.

Elizabeth smirked, "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"I've heard that question a hundred times the last thirty days," Neal grumbled, "It's my turn to ask. Besides, I may have been injured, but I'm not the only one that was kidnapped."

Elizabeth tightened her hold on her pillow, "It's hard. Sometimes, I'm afraid to open the door, but it's also easy, because I have Peter beside me."

"I'm sorry, Elle," Neal murmured.

"Why?" Elizabeth asked, grabbing Neal's hand in hers, "None of it was your fault."

"I know, but I feel like someone should say it."

Elizabeth smiled warmly at him, reaching for his hand. It was a small moment, one that spoke volumes about their friendship, and for that moment, Neal was able to pretend that this was an ordinary day, that all of the events that led them here hadn't actually happened. Part of him had been wondering over the last few weeks if Elizabeth and Peter had harbored some blame towards him. He was the reason they were kidnapped, after all. It may not have been him holding the gun to their heads, but he was the one the Russians wanted, and that was enough for him.

Elizabeth seemed to sense his thoughts because she scooted across the couch, carefully wrapping her arm around his waist and laying her head on his good shoulder, the pillow still pressed between them.

"If I'm being honest," she said quietly, "the worst thing about all of this is that I don't know how to feel towards them. The things they did, how they threatened us, I should hate them, fear them even."

"But you don't."

Elizabeth shook her head, "Not even a little bit. I'm worrying about them, actually. Isn't that messed up? They're criminals, murderers. It should be easy to hate them. Right and wrong, bad and good. It shouldn't be this confusing."

"It's never as easy as black and white," Neal said.

"I wish I knew what happened to them," Elizabeth mused, "If they made it out of America and back home. I worry about Sofia mostly. I hope she's happy."

At that moment, Peter arrived home, cursing and stumbling over Satchmo as the canine excitedly greeted his owner. With his jacket slung over one arm and a small package clutched in his other arm, Peter danced his way into the living room, muttering at his dog and nearly knocking over a lamp. Elizabeth tried to hide her giggles behind her hand, but didn't succeed before her husband noticed. Neal wasn't even trying to hide the broad grin on his face.

"It's not funny," Peter told them, though he was trying to hide his own smile.

"It's a little funny," Neal said as Elizabeth stood to kiss her husband hello. Satchmo sat beside them, panting and wagging his tail.

"How was work?" Elizabeth asked.

"Boring," Peter grunted as he flopped on the couch, "I am so sick of cold cases and mortgage fraud."

"Poor Peter," Neal smirked, "Never any rest for the weary."

"Says the hermit crab," Peter countered. He watched Elizabeth leave the room to let Satchmo out before turning his full attention to Neal, his investigator's eye scanning his friend for signs of discomfort, "How are you doing?"

Neal shrugged, trying to hide the wince the action brought, "Healing. Slowly."

Peter nodded, "Don't push yourself, Neal."

"Not planning on it. Believe me, I've been babying this thing."

"What the doctor say?"

"Another week of rest and I can return to work for light desk duty. After nearly a month, I'm ready for it. I feel like my head is going to explode from boredom."

Peter smirked, but Neal could tell his heart wasn't really in it. He could see his partner's eyes taking in his every movement, watching for obvious and not-so-obvious signs of pain. He didn't miss how Peter's eyes lingered on Neal's sling for a moment longer than they should have before moving to his face.

"I'm fine, Peter," Neal said softly, "Promise."

Peter grunted, something flickering over his face, "I know you are. It's just going to take me some time to get over it is all."

Neal settled back against the couch, sipping his coffee, "I don't remember much of it, but I'm guessing it was pretty bad."

"You have no idea," Peter said, "It doesn't help that it was twice in less than 48 hours."

Neal regarded him curiously, "What are you talking about?"

"Neal, you got shot."

"Yeah."

"Twice."

"Well, yeah, but the one bullet only did minimal damage-"

"I wasn't counting bullets."

"Oh," Neal said, confused. He watched Peter's face, saw how his mouth turned down at the corners and his eyes averted from his gaze, and realization suddenly hit him, "Oh. I'd forgotten about that."

"I haven't," Peter admitted, voice rough.

"Peter, it wasn't real. Compared to the rest of it, that was a cake walk."

"For you maybe, but you weren't standing on this side of things."

"Peter-"

"I thought you were dead, Neal. It all happened so quickly. I didn't even see her pull the gun and then you were on the ground, not moving, and blood all over your chest. I barely had time to react before they were shuffling me out the door."

"I'm sorry, Peter," Neal said, not sure what else to say.

Peter ran his hand down his face, "And that was only the first time. I don't know which one was worse: Seeing you die quickly, or watching you die slowly," he shook his head, "It's not something that I'm gonna get over any time soon, I'll tell you that much."

"I didn't even think about that," Neal admitted, "about how it would have affected you. I know Elizabeth is having a difficult time, but she has you and she didn't see...I'm sorry, Peter. I'm sorry you had to go through that."

Peter scoffed, shaking his head ruefully, "Neal, stop apologizing. For God's sakes, you were the one that was shot and beat up and everything else. I can handle the bad memories and the occasional nightmares. What I can't handle is you actually dying. So don't do it."

Neal arched an eyebrow, "Peter, are you ordering me not to die?"

"Yes. Wait, no. You never follow orders. In fact, you out right defy them. So this is more of a friendly request. No dying."

"I second that," Elizabeth said as she entered the room, sitting next to Peter and handing him a mug of coffee.

Neal smiled, "I'll do my best."

"Peter, what's this?" Elizabeth asked, holding up the package he'd brought in with him.

"Found that on the door step," Peter answered, wincing as he burnt his tongue, "It doesn't have a return address on it and I don't remember ordering anything."

"Me neither," Elizabeth said, tearing the end off the white package. She turned it on the side, spilling its contents into her lap.

Three things fell out: A small envelope, a silver ring, and a CD. As Elizabeth examined the ring, Peter took the envelope, eyebrows rising as he read the front.

"It's for you," he said, handing it to Neal.

Wary, Neal accepted the envelope, gently opening the flap and removing the letter inside.

"What is it?" Elizabeth asked as Neal unfolded the paper. His eyes went wide then softened and misted with tears.

"Neal?" Peter urged.

Swallowing hard, Neal turned the paper over so they could see. They're reactions were very similar to his own. On the sheet in his hand was a drawing of the three of them in a house centered in a poorly drawn America. Blue squiggles representing the ocean separated them from the other land mass, Russia. Under a second house was a drawing of a little girl with blonde pig tails and a wide smile.

"Sofia," Elizabeth whispered, holding the drawing almost reverently.

"She made it home then," Peter said with relief. He held up the disc, "Anybody up for a movie?"

Elizabeth moved to sit beside Neal, still smiling at the drawing as Peter turned on the T.V. and DVD player. He'd barely sat down next to Elizabeth before the movie started.

The screen showed an image of a living room, bright and open and clean. Centered in the frame with her hair curled and parted and held in pig tails was Sofia. She smiled widely, revealing a gap in her teeth from a missing tooth, and waved at the camera.

"Hi, Neal. Hi, Elizabeth. Hi, Peter," she grinned excitedly, "My aunt Vivka is filming this for me. Inna says it's dangerous to call, so we came up with this instead. I wanted to show you where I'm living now. Plus, this way I can show you my room. But first I want you to meet my family."

Sofia hopped off the couch, the camera following her as she made her way to the dining room where two boys, one five and the other ten, sat happily eating their breakfast. They waved at the camera as Sofia introduced them as her cousins, Misha and Sasha. Then she ran to the kitchen where her thirteen year old cousin called Anya was making eggs. She shyly waved at the camera, handing Sofia half of a banana.

"They're my cousins," Sofia said, "only not really. Aunt Vivka and Uncle Ivan are going to adopt me so my last name will be theirs. So really, they're my brothers and sister. It's kind of weird, but really cool, too," she smiled wide, "I always wanted a big sister."

Elizabeth smiled even as she sniffled through sudden tears. Peter took her hand in his, squeezing it tightly as he watched the little girl run down the hall to her bedroom.

"I get my very own room now," she nearly squealed in delight, "It's the first time I can remember having my own stuff and my own bed. Look, I even got to choose the colors on the wall."

The camera panned around the room, showing the lilac walls and white bedding and matching furniture. Sofia jumped on the bed, clutching a small stuffed animal to her chest, her pig tails bouncing around her face.

"I get to go to school, too. I have to take special tests so they know I'm not stupid, but then I'm going to go to be in Sasha's grade and we'll have friends and parties and games. I'm so excited about it, but school doesn't start for a few more weeks. Until then, Sasha and Misha and Anya are my only friends," Sofia stopped jumping, landing on her knees in the center of the bed. Her smile was genuine and wide and it brightened her eyes until they nearly sparkled, "But that's okay. I love it here. I love my family."

Elizabeth sniffled loudly and Neal handed her the box of tissues, swallowing against the large lump in his own throat. Sofia jumped off the bed and stood in front of the camera.

"There's two more things I wanted to show you," she said, moving to her dresser. She picked up a small framed picture and held it for the camera to see, "This is my mom, Nadya. Aunt Vivka gave it to me because I was beginning to forget what she looks like. I wanted you to see it because you never got to see her. Aunt Vivka says I look just like her."

The camera focused on the picture, showing a beautiful woman with dark eyes and long dark hair. There was a spark in her eyes, an amused glint that seemed to laugh at the world. She wasn't smiling, only smirking but even that was beautiful. And Sofia was right; she looked just like her.

Sofia put the picture back and pulled a necklace out from under her shirt. She held it out proudly, "You probably don't recoginze it, Neal. It was kind of flat the last time you saw it. This is the coin you gave to me at the apartments. Remember? When you were showing me the magic trick? Mikhail did this for me. He pressed it down and made it into a ring. It's too big now, that's why I have to wear it on a chain, but when I grow up, it will fit and I'll wear it all the time. Look, he even engraved it."

She pressed it closer to the camera but the image was blurred and the words were unreadable. Sofia pulled back, examining her ring closely.

"It says 'Magic Trick'," she smiled, "cause that's what you called me. I had him make you one, too. I hope you like it. That was everything I wanted to show you. I hope we can see each other again. I'm gonna miss you," she waved with a sad smille, "Dasvidaniya."

"She's so happy," Elizabeth murmured as the screen went blank, "I've never seen her smile like that."

She handed Neal the ring. He smiled as he ran his thumb over the matching engraved words encircling the band. Licking his lips and wiping at the corners of his eyes, he slipped the ring easily over his finger, amazed that it fit perfectly. Elizabeth smiled at him through fresh tears.

Peter cleared his throat, grabbing the package and examining it. Neal and Elizabeth pretended not to notice the tears he was trying to hide from them. As Elizabeth dabbed at her eyes, Peter reached into the package.

"What is it, hon?" she asked.

"It's a card," Peter answered, "There's a poem written inside."

Before Neal could ask what it said, the screen changed from black back to the living room. This time instead of Sofia, there was a woman in her late thirties tentatively watching the camera. She sat with her legs crossed and her hands placed delicately in her lap. Her short blonde hair fell to her shoulders, perfectly done, not a strand out of place. She was pretty enough, though she looked older than her actual age, and hesitant, like she couldn't trust anyone, even herself.

"You don't know me," she said softly, her words slow, as if she was picking them out with extra care, "but you have given me the greatest gift. Nadya was my younger sister and when she died...I wasn't sure how to go on. I felt like I was flailing in the middle of the ocean with no anchor, no preserver, nothing. I didn't know which way to turn. My sisters, they never faltered. They always knew what had to be done, but I wasn't strong enough to do it with them," she smiled sadly, "I gave them reasons that I thought were valid, but in the end, there was no denying what I had known from the beginning. I was a coward. What they have done, you may see it as a crime, but it took courage and strength, qualities that I do not possess. I know that it disgusts you, this thing that you were forced to take part in, but that is why we made this video. You had to see for yourself what you have done for Sofia, the life you have given her, the chance she otherwise would not have had."

Vivka looked away, unable to continue as tears choked her. She swallowed them down, wiped away the ones that escaped, and looked straight at the camera. In her hand, she held up a small leather bound book, blackened at the edges, charred on the corners.

"This was Nadya's, her book of favorite poems. It is all we have left of hers that survived the fires. Everything else has been turned to soot and ash. I know you can never understand why we did what we did, unless you go through it yourselves, and I pray that never happens. But I thought this would give you a better chance to understand us. One of Nadya's favorite poems was by a man named Mikhail Kuzmin. She said it described the four of us perfectly."

Vivka held the book tightly in her hands, suddenly unable or unwilling to look into the camera lens, "What we must live with, it is a heavy burden, and I am truly sorry that you had to be pulled in. If you find it hard to sleep at night, try to remember this: you did not help to kill a man," she looked up, a small smile gracing her lips, "you helped save the life of a child."

The video clip ended and the trio sat in silence, waiting to see if there was more. When nothing else appeared on the screen, Peter quietly stood and turned off the T.V.

"Peter," Elizabeth asked, her voice hoarse from tears, "what does the poem say?"

Peter handed the card to her so she and Neal could read it, but he wasn't paying attention. He was holding the plastic case for the DVD in his hand. Turning it over in his hands, he saw a single word scrawled on the back in black sharpie.

"What about the others?" Neal asked, "Do you think we'll ever see them again?"

Putting the disc back in the case, Peter smirked, "Oh, I don't doubt it."

He put the case down on the coffee table, the single word staring boldly up at them.

Dasvidaniya.

We were four sisters, four sisters were we,

All four of us loved, but differently.

One because father and mother said so,

Another because her lover had gold,

The third because he wrote poetry,

And I loved, because I loved, you see.

We were four sisters, four sisters were we,

All four of us wished, but differently:

One to raise children and cook away,

The second to wear a new dress each day,

The third for the world to talk about her,

And I to be loved, and love my lover.

-Mikhail Kuzmin

A/N: The above poem is written by a Russian author and was actually the inspiration for this story. Crazy that such a sweet poem could inspire such mayhem and bloodshed, but, hey, I just do what the plot bunnies tell me. If your curious, this is how I saw each of the sisters relating to the poem:

Vivka- Mother and father set up the marriage because that is what old times say women are supposed to do, same with the cooking and raising children, though Vivka never dreamed of anything other than having a family.

Lanka- In her youth, she was selfish and shallow, only wanting to be rich and famous, but it all changed when Nadya was murdered.

Inna- Before everything went down, she was in love with a sweet man and joined the military to make a name for herself, and show her family that she didn't have to live according to the old traditional values.

Nadya- She only wanted to love someone wholeheartedly, but in the end, it killed her.

This story is complete, but I'm working on a one-shot involving Neal's father and a conclusion to IN THE WIND's cliffhanger. Obviously it won't be what happens in the show as it will involve my Russians. When it's done, I'll upload it to this story.

Until then...Dasvidaniya.