(Chapter 3)

Peter felt the gun on the back of his head, looking up as Neal walked up and reluctantly handed the courier tube to Hagen, before backing away. He could tell the young man was nervous, watching his body language as he tried not to betray it. Neal had barely taken a handful of steps back when Peter felt the gun brush his scalp upwards. He closed his eyes, expecting to feel a gunshot when he heard the report. The heat was evident but it hadn't hit him. He could smell the acrid odor of gunpowder but there was no sensation of being shot. Peter opened his eyes looking up at Hagen then back at Neal. A red stain began to grow on the young man's chest through his coat. Neal stumbled backwards, falling to a sitting position as he looked down at the wound in shock. Peter felt tears pouring down his cheeks, pulling at his handcuffs weakly as he watched Neal collapsed to the floor. The young man seemed to be looking at something on the ceiling, an odd smile on his face before his expression went slack. Peter pulled at his bonds, muffled sounds of anguish escaping his gag.

Hagen walked over and dropped the tube beside Neal's lifeless body, crouching and whispering:

"I told you I'd kill you." The man rose, perking up as the shouts of several Federal agents were heard entering the terminal. Hagen turned and smiled at the agent, dropping his gun and holding up his hands. Peter continued to pull at his bonds, his eyes never leaving Neal's still form. Tears continued to fall from his eyes as he sat there helpless, the shouts of agents around him but all he saw was Neal, dead.

He suddenly realized someone was in front of him, crouching there. It was Jones.

"Peter? Peter?" Jones' voice echoed into the gray mist that covered Peter's vision as he passed out.

()()()

"Peter... Peter wake up!" A familiar voice spoke to him as someone was shaking him gently but persistently. Peter opened his eyes reluctantly, blinking up at the figure over him. It was Neal. He blinked up at the young man then at his surroundings. He was at home? Peter felt confused, reaching up to touch the young man's arm. He was real, solid... alive. He saw a worried look on Neal's face as he turned to speak to someone else.

"El, he's awake. Is the doctor coming?" Neal sounded concerned. Peter turned seeing his wife come into view and hug him briefly. He nestled in her arms as much as he could, feeling an intense warmth. The room felt like an oven. El looked worriedly at him, smiling as she put something cool and damp on his forehead. It felt nice as he started to close his eyes again. Someone shook him gently again, Neal speaking. It sounded important but he just wanted to sleep, everything disappearing into a gray blur as he passed out.

()()()

El was the first face he saw when he woke up. He was at home, apparently on the couch. He looked around blearily. Peter thought something was missing, sitting up with a start as he tried to think what it was. His wife sat beside him and hugged him tightly. She seemed to understand what was going on.

"I keep thinking I've forgotten something. El? What was it..." He saw sadness in her eyes as he tried to think what was missing. She hugged him even tighter.

"Peter, you need to sleep. I'll get one of the pills the doctor gave you. Go upstairs." He nodded obediently until he saw her pick something up, a folder and tried hiding it behind her as she walked away. Peter stood and grasped the folder, seeing a name clearly printed across the top tab: Curtis Hagen. That name rang a bell but he couldn't quite figure out from where. El looked a bit guilty, her face flushed as she tried to speak.

"Peter, you have to give this up. You need rest." She looked like she wanted to cry but she didn't, face pale. Peter wasn't sure what she was talking about or why she looked so sad. He opened up the folder and started to read:

Name: Curtis Hagen
Aliases: "The Dutchman"
Date of Birth: October 12th, 1972
Age: 38
National Origin: England

Crimes: Bond Forgery, Art Forgery, Theft, Homicide...

Peter reread the last word, Homicide reading further into the case file. Now he remembered, this was the man Neal had helped him nab on his first few weeks out of prison. Hagen had successfully exchanged a copy of his own forged version of the "Spanish Victory Bond" for the original in an attempt to defraud the government out of millions of dollars when he would hopefully exchange false bonds. Neal had discovered the fake bond at the archives. It was with the con's help Peter and the bureau had put Hagen and his operation to rest.

The agent smiled, thinking of the good Neal had done. He sat back down on the sofa and continued to read through the file. El continued to stand there looking worriedly at him. After a moment she left him alone but he hadn't noticed as he flipped through the file to see what else was in there.

"Curtis Hagen was convicted of homicide in the intentional shooting of an employee of the Federal Bureau of Investigations. Consultant Neal Caffrey, partner of Federal Agent Peter Burke, was shot and killed during a hostage negotiation..."

Peter felt his throat tighten up as a sudden rush of memories overwhelmed him. He dropped the folder to the floor, stood and ran up the stairs to the bathroom. He didn't even close the door, lifting the lid of the toilet and throwing up. He knelt on the floor; waves of nausea keeping him hunched over the toilet till he finally collapsed to the floor and curled up. He felt someone near him after a while and a hand touch him gently.

"Peter? Peter are you ok?" His wife looked down at him worriedly, feeling at his head and pulling her arms around Peter. El grabbed a towel and wiped at his mouth.

"Neal... s... dead? El? How..." He was in shock, trying to remember. Why couldn't he...

Peter curled up in his wife's arms and buried his face in her shoulder, crying. Neal was gone. How could he have forgotten? He kept crying, memories slowly beginning to come back to him. There had been a small service. June had been there, her face one of the saddest he had ever seen. She looked as if she had lost a family member and yet she had graciously offered her condolences to them and anything else they might need. Elizabeth had taken solace in speaking with the older woman who had been Neal's landlady and friend for so long. Mozzie had refused to show to the service but had sent the obligatory flowers and card. He had taken up the notion that no amount of paperwork could convince him that the body in the coffin wasn't a body-double left by Neal in an attempt to start a new life elsewhere. June said she would sometimes see the little guy staring from across the street up at her home but he never visited her or entered her home again. It had been a sad time for everyone.

He cried, feeling his wife slowly help him to his feet. He heard water running as she started a hot bath for him, helping him undress. Peter just sat in the water as his wife tried to calm him, wiping at his face and trying to help him relax. He shivered despite the warmth of the water. It didn't help him feel any better nor did he even notice as his wife helped him rinse off, pull on a robe and led him back to their bedroom. She dressed him in some gray sweats and his favorite tee, easing him into bed and under the covers.

Peter felt empty. Now he realized what he was missing. He finally turned to look at his wife, realizing he was in bed but not remembering how he got there. She handed him a small pill and some water. Peter just stared at it.

"What's this?" His voice was expressionless, despondent. El smiled softly at him, helping him sit up to take it.

"It will help you sleep, honey. Please." Her eyes and voice pleaded with him. Peter could never deny his wife anything so he obeyed, putting the pill on his tongue and sipping the water. It was bitter tasting but he just took more sips of water to get rid of the taste. He looked up at her as he lay there in bed. Everything seemed so gray suddenly.

"How long has it been? Since Neal..." The pill must have started to work; he was feeling sleepy, blinking his eyes to keep his wife and thoughts in focus. She brushed at his hair gently.

"Six months. The doctor said you might have some memory loss with these pills but you haven't slept otherwise. I'm sorry... I miss him too." Peter nodded, his eyes felt warm as did the room but it was a strangely comforting warmth. His body relaxed and he began to fall asleep, the soft touch of his wife's hand caressing his face lulling him to sleep.

()()()

Peter woke up in his bed, head throbbing, pulse beating in his ears. The room felt hot so he tried to move the blankets off of him. It took all his strength to move them aside. He was drenched in sweat but he still felt way too warm for comfort. The ceiling fan switch was just a few feet away on the wall. He just needed to turn it on and he would feel better. Peter sat up, though it took way too much effort, pushing himself to his feet. The room swam around him as he stumbled towards the switch by the door. He nearly reached it when he collapsed to the floor. The floor boards felt cool against his cheek as he lay there. He still felt warm; hot actually, sweat dripping down his brow. Peter thought he heard footsteps hurrying towards him but he was too far gone to be sure.

"Peter? Neal!" It was El speaking. She sounded frantic. He wondered why she was calling to Neal, his mind fuzzy. He felt the floor vibrate with more footsteps and someone flipped him over gently. He saw a blurry figure over him.

"He's still burning up! Call the doctor; I'll put him back in bed." He heard Neal's voice but he must be dreaming. He reached up and touched the young man's face. He felt real enough.

"I'm sorry, Neal..." Peter saw the young man blink back at him as he was eased up to a standing position and carried towards the bed. Neal lifted him up onto the bed and threw the covers back over him. Peter struggled.

"Too warm..." Peter rasped. He saw Neal nod, pulling only a flannel sheet over him. This must be a dream. Neal was dead, wasn't he? He clung to the young man's hand.

"Neal... Mozzie meant to go but... it was just too hard for him to deal." His voice felt dry and throat scratchy. Neal brushed a damp strand of hair from Peter's face looking at his friend curiously.

"Hard to deal with what, Peter? I don't understand." Neal sounded confused but mostly worried. Peter frowned.

"Hagen..." Peter's voice trailed off as he fell back into the gray haze and then darkness.