He came to mere moments after falling; a single paramedic was crouching over him and Jones was saying something; he could only guess that the remaining paramedics were with Neal. Still, it took Peter a few minutes to track the situation.

Peter?

His heart was pounding in his chest, and his eyes sought reverently for Neal, Neal.

"Peter—" It was Jones's voice again, and he sounded like he'd been trying to get Peter's attention for a while.

"Where's Neal?"

"Sir, you've got a bullet graze to your shoulder and a somewhat deeper graze on your right lower chest."

"I'm fine—I'm fine, dammit. Where's Neal?"

"Peter, I'm going to call Elizabeth." Jones again.

"Dammit, I'm FINE."

Lights seemed to be flashing brightly, sounds were magnified, and everything was happening so fast, so very fast, and dammit, if someone didn't tell him where Neal was…

Fuck.

Peter's breath caught and his thoughts were momentarily interrupted as the EMT's hands were prodding the area. "Doesn't seem too deep, though I'd still like to admit you and stitch both up, get you on some antibiotics to ward off infection.." she was musing aloud.

Peter exhaled and finally made eye contact with Jones. Jones's bloodied gash was still bleeding sluggishly, and Peter could see a bloodied handkerchief in Jones's right hand…

"He dabbed at my face with his handkerchief, threw it at me when he was done. He probably thought he was being dramatic. It's a white handkerchief, Peter. White. He basically threw in a white flag. The symbolism will not be lost on him when we bring him in."

Jones followed Peter's gaze to the cloth in his hand and haphazardly shoved it in his pocket. "It isn't—this isn't from- it's being bagged into evidence right now. This is Diana's." Jones swallowed thickly, and Peter took note of his red-rimmed eyes.

Peter huffed out a breath, pulling back a bit from the paramedic.

"I'm fine, I swear. It's not even that bad, just stings. I'll go to the hospital, I swear, just… just please, let me find Neal, go in with him. He… He doesn't…" He doesn't have anybody.

The words died in his throat.
But really, Neal did have others, so what right did Peter have to put himself on such a pedestal?

Mozzie would do anything for Neal—their odd relationship had left Peter uneasy at first, but ever since they'd returned from Cape Verde, something had changed in Mozzie's and his own (Peter) relationship. Peter had witnessed firsthand just how much the older man would do for Neal, and as odd as the man was… he was a great friend.

And Neal had June, sweet June. He had Sara, even if they weren't on romantic terms. He had Diana, Jones, Elizabeth, Alex… he had people who cared about him, loved him, and yet… yet he carried himself with a flame, with a reckless abandon. Neal lived wildly and contained at the same time, pressed into perfect suits and dazzling smiles, yet combusting, burning from the inside out. Inside those icy blue eyes was a fire within, a fire consuming the man, a haunting reflection of the fire that had consumed Kate on that horrible day in the hanger.

Elizabeth had asked about that day once, and Peter had deflected, saying merely that he was worried about Neal.
Often, he thought about it. Neal never talked about Kate, never seemed to carry any of it with him... but his eyes... they held it all.

While the fire had killed Kate instantly.. it was slowly burning Neal.

Would the fire burn out today?

Peter's mind was moving miles a minute. He shook his head, cleared it, and reassessed the situation. Call it adrenaline or sentimentality, but Peter was really pawning into his Caffrey sense today. God, if Neal knew what a sap I was being.. He'd never let me live it down.

Christ- if he's even conscious.
Images of a beaten Neal, a battered man... bonds bonds bonds.

"I need to be with Neal right now."

Simple, to the point, honest. Neal was his friend, but it was so much more than that… so much more.

"I need Neal."
Spoken like a child, but this day… the things he'd seen, the things Neal had lived..

Nothing was going to be the same after this… and the only thing that would let Peter breath again would be seeing Neal, talking to Neal, letting himself go to that parental and sappy place that he tried so desperately to hide.

Jones nodded, and with a dejected sigh, the EMT stepped away from him. She opened her mouth to speak but was stopped as Jones placed a hand on her shoulder. Jones visibly sagged and gruffly cleared his throat before speaking.

"Let me tell him… I should- I should be the one to tell him."

Tell me what?
Peter's mouth was dry.