Diana had called Mozzie to break the bad news. She sympathized with the weird man who probably felt left out and desperate for information about his friend. Being condemned to the sidelines herself, the agent knew the sting of feeling utterly helpless. So, she told him the full story. Moreover, she answered his probing questions patiently.

Eventually, it was hard for Moz to gasp the enormity of what he had just heard. "Wait, wait, wait! Seigel has been Pratt's longtime minion, and joined forces with Hagen. Thereupon, Neal was framed by both of them. Your boss hasn't had a clue and courted disaster. Now, Neal's handler has shot him. Hence, my friend is in a dying condition. He can't die. It's not an option."

Mozzie was choked up, obviously unwilling to accept the bare possibility that his friend could be dying.

Diana tried to reassure him. "Listen, everything will turn out all right. He's in hospital where a team of medical specialists takes care of him right now. There's no need to worry."

The little man was miffed. "Is this an occupational skill or does lying just run in your family? He's my friend. In fact, the only one I have. Recently, he's been perforated like a sieve by a fed. He had to be reanimated, and we don't know if he's still alive as we speak. In my understanding, there is a very urgent need to worry!"

Truth to be told, the agent felt concerned herself. "Sorry, this was just a stupid, commonplace remark. You're right. Let's go! I'll meet you at the hospital."

*** At the hospital ***

Peter's gunshot wound needed surgery. But once they staunched the bleeding, it could be treated without further complications. When the agent woke from anesthesia, El was sitting on a chair next to his bed.

He was still drowsy. Nevertheless, he didn't fail to notice she was on the verge of tears. Peter reached for her hand. "Sorry, hon. I didn't want to upset you."

His wife startled up. "Thank God, you're alive and awake." She squeezed his hand hard.

Elizabeth shared the information about his medical condition the doctor in charge had given her earlier on. "You're lucky! You've suffered a concussion and the shoulder will hurt for a while. Though, you're going to be alright. Jones told me that lousy, mean, detestable psycho has aimed for your heart. Fortunately, he has only hit your shoulder. If he would have ... I mean if you were... I cannot imagine my world without you. Don't do this again to me, ever!"

Recalling the course of events, a shiver ran down agent Burke's spine. "Neal, how is he?"

Caffrey was still undergoing surgery. He was brought into the operation theater 4 hours ago. He had been hit by several bullets and was hurt badly. His liver was injured as well as the right lung and the spleen, causing heavy inner bleeding. Furthermore, the thigh bone was splinted. Worst of all, they couldn't tell yet whether the spinal cord was injured.

Peter closed his eyes, drowning in a wave of despair. If only, he hadn't appointed David Seigel as Neal's handler. If only, he hadn't been so naive when James Bennett's audio message turned up. If only, he had drawn his gun the moment Seigel turned up at the auction house. He wished he could turn back time.

The small group of people was huddled in the waiting room. Conversations had ended hours ago. Now, they were waiting in anxious silence for news from the surgical team. Diana was pacing the room, unable to sit any longer on the uncomfortable chair, massaging her belly gently.

Mozzie was sitting close to June, both of them pale and slumped down. Jones had supervised the crime scene team to make sure evidence was taken with the appropriate accuracy. In the meantime, OPR has taken over the lead. Tomorrow, they would question him, and he'd make his statement. For now, he was holding out in the waiting room, not willing to leave before Caffrey's surgery has been finished.

Finally, the doors to the operation theater slid open. A doctor in scrubs entered the waiting room. "Family of Mr. Caffrey?"

Mozzie sprang to his feet. "How is he? Can I see him?"

The doctor seemed tired; nonetheless, he was observing hospital policies. "You're family? What's your degree of kinship if I may ask?"

Mozzie was indignant at the mere question. "I'm his friend. His oldest and best friend. If you had known his family, you wouldn't be so keen to meet them."

Wrong answer... "Sorry, I understand your anxiety. I'm afraid that according to the regulations I'm authorized to give details about Mr. Caffrey's medical condition only to his family or medical attorney."

There was a perplexed silence in the room until June rose from her chair. "I'm his mother. You can inform me about his state of health."

The doctor was obviously astonished, gawping at her with open mouth. Yet, the old lady looked him straight in the eye, not willing to leave room for doubt.

Finally, the doctor found his tongue. "You're his ... mother? By all appearances, this is a bit surprising ..."

June gave him a lenient smile. "Oh, I see! There's the age difference. Neal's the baby of the family. He came quite late into my life. Nonetheless, I wouldn't want to miss a single day with him."

The doctor couldn't help admiring her chutzpah. What the heck, she seemed to be nice and sincerely concerned about the young man whose life he had just saved.

To every thing there is a season and a purpose. Hospital regulations were meant to protect a patient's privacy. Although, there was an exception to every rule.

So, he decided this was a season for making an exception. "All right. We have moved ... your son ... to our critical care unit. The surgery went well. Under the circumstances, Mr. Caffrey was quite lucky that the spinal cord wasn't injured. We stopped the inner bleeding. Still, it'll take time until the lung will be healed completely. In addition to that, we have to watch the pulmonary artery occlusion pressure to avoid postoperative complications. The hepatic rupture was only superficial, and the liver will regenerate in time. Nevertheless, we had to carry out a splenectomy so we might have to deal with of immunodeficiency."

Jones, June and Diana exchanged baffled looks. Only Mozzie was able to decipher the medical gobbledygook translating the message. "Bottom line is Neal will get over it sooner or later. Certainly, the first weeks will be rough, and we have to ensure that he takes it slow for a while, not overstraining himself."

The doctor nodded in agreement. "Generally speaking, that's correct. Still, we can't rule out a possible brain damage as an aftereffect of his respiratory arrest. The narcotic sleep will take a while to wear off. We'll have to wait at least another day until Mr. Caffrey will be responsive. Then, we'll know the score. I suggest you go home and rest."

Jones went to fill Peter in on the consultant's state of health. The waiting room emptied out, everyone else headed home tired, but full of hope that Neal would recover from his injuries.

*** Sometimes during the next day ***

Neal heard unidentifiable noises far away. Someone called his name. He tried to answer, but wasn't even able to open the eyes. He drifted in and out. He woke again because there was a pressure in his throat, breathing felt strange, though not really painful, only restrictive.

In another wake phase, Caffrey managed to open the eyes for a second. The light was glaring, white. His limbs were heavy as lead. He couldn't possibly move them. He was so tired and couldn't stay awake any longer.

Hours went by, but Neal had no sense of time at all.

"Mr. Caffrey. It's time to come back to us..." Neal felt a soft hand stroking his face.

Then, it got suddenly very chilly; he felt cool air on his skin. There was something ice-cold pressing on his chest, repeatedly. He didn't like it and should really open the eyes to face the situation.

The doctor put the stethoscope away, obviously satisfied with the examination. The nurse covered the patient once again with the blanket. Neal was grateful for the returning warmth.

"Let's give him another hour. The effect of the barbiturates wears off."

*** Later on … ***

"Neal? Come on, it's time to wake up."

Caffrey has had no problems ignoring the other voices earlier on. Then why had Peter this special effect on him? Making it impossible to go back to sleep. Neal couldn't remember what had happened or where he was. For once, he was completely clueless. Yet somehow, when Burke used this tone, he was usually caught doing mischief.

"You can't arrest me for sleeping." Ok, it might have sounded more like 'Ye cnt arresme far sleevn...' However, Peter got the message.

The agent relaxed visibly. That was the same cocky Neal Caffrey he had chased and met so many years ago. Crazy yes, par for the course, but there was no sign of brain damage.

"Oh yes, I could. Case law, you know. Right now, I'm willing to turn a blind eye if you're a good boy and answer the questions of the nice lady doctor."

Speaking was easier once Neal has been extubated. He answered all those silly questions they asked to assess his state of mind. Of course, he knew his name. Truth to be told, he knew all of the aliases he had used over the years. Though, Peter stopped him after he had rasped 'Neal Caffrey'.

It was 2013. They were in New York. He had been shot. He knew the president's name.

Even more, he remembered he hadn't been allowed to vote. He was alive, but he was a criminal. His situation hasn't improved since the last time he had reflected about it.

The doctor was satisfied by his answers. Though, she made it clear he needed rest and ushered Burke out of the room.

Neal noted with a feeling of relief that the nurse fiddled with the control valve of the intravenous pain medication making the reality yielding to a dreamless sleep.

Next time he woke up, Caffrey was out of intensive care. The dim light of sunrise shone through a window, but the room was still half-dark. So it had to be very early morning.

He spotted a figure on the chair next to his bed. "Peter! You're wearing pajamas. Very stylish ones, if I may say so. I guess El has chosen them... Does the FBI have a new dress code?"

The agent smiled about the cheeky comment. "I had surgery as well, plus a concussion. For the time being, I'm admitted, and my room is down the hall. According to the doctors I will be released within the next couple of days. Tonight, I couldn't sleep anymore. So I came looking after you."

Neal was gloomy. "Keeping tabs on me. Don't worry, I won't run or get up to mischief for a while. You can go back to your room and rest assured."

Burke was irritated by the sudden change of mood, but not really annoyed. "That's not what I've said, or meant though. I figured you might be disorientated when you wake up appreciating a familiar face."

The young man felt a pang of remorse. "Oh." And after a while "Thanks."

A long silence ensued.

Finally, Neal plucked up courage to raise the probing question. "I know what I've done, and that you can't ignore or conceal it. Tell me! When do I have to expect the Marshalls?"

It would be nice to stay here for his recovery, a room with windows, space and daylight instead of the hostile environment of the prison infirmary. Nevertheless, he'd understand if Peter wasn't willing to take another risk.

His friend sighed. "No Marshalls."

Neal didn't dare to bring the meaning of these two words into question.

After a while, Burke went on. "According to the official version, you haven't done anything wrong. Curtis Hagen has committed several crimes after his release on behalf of Andy Crawick. Crawick is an alias used by David Seigel. In the end, Seigel cracked up, killed Hagen. Shortly after, he attempted to kill you and me. Seigel had the gem stones from the auction house on him. Furthermore, they found the rest of the plunder in his room."

Neal shook his head sadly. "I appreciate the effort. But it won't work. Hagen had got incriminating photos from a surveillance camera. There was one on his mobile phone and probably more on his laptop or somewhere in the cloud."

Burke cringed at the thought of what he was going to tell now. "Much to OPR's regret, the mobile was destroyed beyond remedy. When the FBI had finally found Hagen's apartment, there was nothing left inside. Someone had emptied it completely. There's no footage left in the internet either."

He could only guess that Jones was involved in the mobile phone incident. Neither was there any proof, nor did he ask. Most probably, if not certainly, it had been Mozzie who had emptied Hagen's hideout and who had taken care that all existing copies of the photos were erased.

Peter's FBI instincts told him in no uncertain manner that this was wrong. But yet, he didn't mind the unconventional help at all.

"Although, my wife let it be known that, if you should ever decide to pose for the New York City Firefighters Calendar, she wants a signed copy. She maintains the opinion that the fireman gear has looked good on you."

"Wow." Neal was at a loss for words.

He could hardly believe his luck. "But I'm a criminal and you're a federal agent. We've been there before. How should this work out?"

The older man had no perfect answer to this question. "I don't know. I guess we have to try harder. Maybe a bit more trust would be a good start, for both of us."

Caffrey wasn't appeased by this response. "Be honest! Your life would be so much easier without me. For a start, I'm not good for your career. You're risking your job for me, even your life. You could have an easy job as ASAC. No sleepless nights. No CI calling on you at odd times. No responsibility for a stray criminal who is working for you and tends to run into trouble of the worst kind. You could worry about the baseball season instead of me. I'm only causing difficulties, worries and a headache for you. That's what people call a nuisance."

Peter shook his head. "You call it nuisance. For me, it's family. A rose by another name... Yes, you are a criminal; likewise I wouldn't mind a little less trouble. I'm not dumb. I realized those recent crimes you were committing they were intended to rescue me. In the aftermath of your rescue operation you went overboard. Your crimes were never about money or greed. Probably, the challenge to commit them right under the watch of the FBI offered a bit of extra incentive. I guess I'll just have to work harder to keep you on the straight and narrow. But I promise I will never walk out on you."

Caffrey didn't know what to make out of this. "Family? What am I supposed to be? The prodigal son? Black sheep?"

Burke chuckled. "Something along these lines. Although, I was thinking more of a talented, but immature offspring with a serious impulse control disorder."

Now, Neal grinned involuntarily, looking suddenly very young. "Talented? I like that. I can do talented! And when I grow up, I wanna be just like you."

Peter smiled while tousling the younger man's hair affectionately. "So you actually plan to grow up, kiddo? That's good news."

Suddenly he turned serious. "I know you like the thrill of committing a crime. Even worse, you probably don't feel guilty or remorse about all these scams. The risk of doing this under the FBI's watch is only boosting the strong attraction you feel. Nevertheless, there is a limit. It would break my heart if I had to arrest you ... But rest assured, I will do it if you play a double game, going back to your old ways."

Speaking the uncomfortable truth wasn't a simple task; still the agent was aware it had to be done. His voice was thin when he went on. "We, El and I, would be there every visiting day and wait for you on the day of your discharge, but I won't hesitate to send you to prison if I need to."

Caffrey felt at a loss. "I don't know if I can live up to your expectations. I'm a criminal. I've never been anything else. I don't know if can change. Or if I actually want to. I mean really want to change for real, deep down inside."

The older man gave him an intense look, forcing him to look straight in the eye. "Neal. I'm not willing to risk you going back. You're much more than just a criminal. That's not who you are any longer. You're a friend, a partner and an exceptional good consultant. I'm so proud of you and what you've become. I'm paying the highest tribute you can pay a man. I trust you to do right. It's that simple."

Neal would have loved believing this might work. "Hey, even if I'm drugged, I can tell when I'm getting coaxed. Deceiving is an art you haven't mastered yet. Fair enough, I'll give it a try. I do my very best, promise. I just hope it's enough."

Peter reassured him. "It will be. Don't 're not alone in this. There's a full back-up team."

Then he told the injured consultant about his back-up team.

Diana who hadn't made it home the other night from the waiting room, but turned around in the parking lot to enter the labor ward just in time to deliver her baby.

June who had lied to the doctor brazenly to get information about this health state.

Mozzie. Well, no need to talk about Mozzie. Neal probably could work out who had destroyed Hagen's photos.

Jones who had volunteered as Neal's new handler. Plus whatever else he might have done to protect him.

Yet even his own wife who was currently clearing the guest room to host Neal during his convalescence. Whereas, all has not been said and done about this arrangement according to June.

Later on, when Neal was once again alone, he was lost in thoughts. It felt nice having a family, people who actually cared about him. He didn't want to let them down. If Neal Caffrey gives his best, he can achieve anything.

Besides, what the suit didn't know wouldn't hurt him. There would be enough room for a little con every once in a while. Just for the fun of it. And to keep in practice…

Author's note:

Thank you for keeping up! All your reviews helped me to complete the story.