I want to thank you all for the incredible reviews; knowing that people are interested in the story I'm telling drives me to write and update even more! I'm working on the next chapter and am trying to do the scene justice. I've built it up so much, so I want to make sure it's my best work before I publish it! Still, once I start writing a fic, it spawns a life of its own, and I'll probably have the next chapter up today or tonight.
_

"Jones, cover me! Diana, I want eyes on this building. Anyone tries to leave, you stop them."
Peter was already clutching his gun and exiting the van.

"Boss, the ambulance, should I bring them in?" Diana's voice was uncharacteristically shrill. "They're still a block out."

"Peter… in there, they hear sirens, they might get spooked, they might…" Jones countered, the worry evident in his voice.

"Dammit. Okay, Di, sit on the building, cover us. I'll radio once I have Neal secured."
Peter felt his heart racing, and he subconsciously clutched his service weapon tighter to try and catch his breath. Swallowing heard, he found himself propelling forward. He didn't have to turn to know that Jones was behind him.

The front gate of the old building was, as Neal had informed them, guarded. Not wasting any time, he flashed his badge.

"FBI, open this gate now." Peter was going for powerful and intimidating, but the bubbling anxiety in his gut shot that to hell. Even he heard the waver in his voice.

"Nobody gets in here without permission," one guard replied indifferently.

"Open. The. Damn. Gate." Deep breaths, deep breaths. But Peter's adrenaline was in full gear, his heart was still galloping, and dammit, there wasn't enough air. Peter Burke didn't do panic, but if he didn't get in that fucking building soon, he was going to lose it.

"Nobody gets in without the boss's permission. You got a warrant?"

Peter huffed, seeing red. Jones was saying something to the guards and, behold, the gate was opening.
Peter was hyperaware of rushing towards the main door as he cast a look at Jones. The two were running side by side as Jones responded to the unspoken question.

"Told them if we came back with a warrant, they'd have the FBI on their tail for any illegal activity we could pin their ass to the wall with. They let us in now, I won't touch a hair on their heads."

Peter momentarily frowned.

"I didn't say anything about Diana, though." He motioned with his head. And sure enough, Diana was approaching the two men, seeming to provoke them. Peter couldn't tell what all was said, but he caught the words "bitch", "no warrant", and then in Diana's throaty voice… well, some very unsavory words about their masculine anatomy. One of the guards stepped towards her, but before he could so much as raise his hand, she was grinning angrily and cuffing the man for attempted assault of a federal agent.

Remind me to promote her, Peter thought fleetingly.

He and Jones would have allowed themselves to smile at Diana's resourcefulness were it not for the more pressing matter of…. Neal.

The building itself was relatively small, and the main floor was a simple lobby. Peter nodded towards Jones- distract the front desk so I can get upstairs- and quickly assessed the situation. Within seconds, Jones talking to the young woman at the front desk, carefully diverting her attention. Peter couldn't overhear what was being said, though to be honest, he didn't really care. He walked as quickly as he would allow himself where as not to draw attention to himself and was able to slip up the maintenance steps with ease. Taking the steps two at a time, he found himself at the door to the second and only other level.

Was it just him, or did he hear a muffled cry?

God, this was bad. This whole op was a disaster.

Peter reached for the doorknob…

Locked. God, could he not catch a break or something?

He huffed out and, throwing caution to the wind because hell Neal could be dying, he threw his body, his weight, into the door that, luckily, opened outward. He splintered through the doorframe with ease and gauged the situation. He was in a hallway, and there was a glass room to his left, likely the board room from earlier. Neal could be dying right now. His chest ached at the thought. All he could feel was dread and the urgent need to see Neal, find him. It took everything in him not to scream for the young man… but Peter couldn't afford to attract any more attention to himself.

Sweeping the hallways, he was relieved to find them empty… though that relief was short-lived. Because if nobody was out here, likely they were all wherever Neal was. Wherever Keller was. His heart tripped over the name and he swallowed the bitter poison that the man's very name brought.

His hands were miraculously steady as he lead with his gun, quickening his pace as he assessed each vacant room. The hair on the back of Peter's neck stood up—someone was behind him. He was ready to fight, he was ready to-

It was Jones.

"First floor is evacuated, NYPD is securing the area silently. No one up here should know we're on site."

Peter exhaled and nodded. They found themselves at the end of the hallway that, naturally, branched left and right. With no time to think, the two men split paths, Jones taking the left and Peter the right.

"Clinton…?" Peter looked toward the man who, in return, solemnly nodded. "Yeah, you too, Peter."

And on that note, Peter raced towards the end of the hallway towards the door that had a 50/50 chance of containing Allistar, Keller, and Neal.

He opened the door, gun raised… and it was empty.

With his heart doing double-time, he raced towards where he and Jones had split, where he know knew that his men were.

On the floor by his feet, he caught sight of a bloodied white handkerchief. Hearing a crash and a shot, he opened the door…