A/N: If you've been following this, sorry about the extremely long delay between chapters. But I do have most of the next chapter of this written, so I think I'll have it up in a few days. And I'm thinking that the next chapter will most likely be the penultimate one.

Unable to read the meter, and unable to do anything else, Neal reached into his coat pocket and handed the cab driver perhaps too much money. The back of his mind dimly rationalized that it was karmic payback from somewhere. Then, as he attempted to get his bearings, trying to keep in mind that he'd been to the museum innumerable times before, Neal fought for breath against the chilly night air as he climbed the snow covered steps up to the entrance.

When he reached the front door, Neal reached for his tie clip, then, remembering that he was wearing a long t-shirt and sweatpants, and no tie, he pulled a spare one out of his coat pocket. Neal barely tapped the door with his tie clip before it clicked open. This puzzled Neal because it really ought to have taken much more than just his tie clip to get into the museum.

Nevertheless, he peered through the front lobby, and finding it empty, ran into the galleries. What Neal would have normally thought of as a private evening viewing of the museum was perhaps diminished by the fact that the color in all the paintings swam before him, significantly distorting the images, and the statues all seemed to be moving. Neal kept closing and reopening his eyes in the hopes that everything would be still when he opened them to no avail.

Neal leaned against the wall as he came to the entrance to the next gallery and tried to take a few deep breaths to steady himself. He never shouldn't have left the Burke's house the way he felt, and he knew it. But there was nothing to do about that now.

Then as he crossed into the weapons gallery, Neal blinked wearily as he saw two men, or at least he thought it was two - it was hard to tell with the dizzying swirl of motion- at the far end of the gallery moving across the tile, parrying erratically at the other with swords. The men paused for a moment when they saw Neal and one of the swords dropped to the floor with a clatter of the blade and a clang of the hilt.

"Neal!" Neal's gaze lifted from the dropped sword to see that the now swordless man was Peter. "Get out of here!"

The other man paused briefly, but didn't lower his sword, as he studied the difficult to interpret, but certainly meaningful, looks being exchanged by Neal and Peter, "Friend of yours?"

"I..." Neal started, in answer to Peter's query, but the words 'I dreamed that a long-dead, possibly fictitious architect killed you' sort of stuck in his throat. "I was worried about you."

The concern was currently proving to be a valid one as the other man made to slash at Peter's exposed arm and shoulder.

"Peter!" Neal shouted as he moved closer. Peter swiveled to the side, seemingly barely missing the sword's edge. Neal leaned over the floor and grabbed the unintentionally discarded sword. The hilt was jewel encrusted, and had Neal been thinking more logically, he might have thought to ask why Peter had taken a sword from the museum's display as it wasn't something Peter would do.

Unable to fully comprehend what was going on, Neal wasn't sure whether he should be relieved or worried when Peter took the sword away from him and shooed him back towards the wall. Both swords were raised again and as the men circled one another, the jeweled hilts cast a greenish gold glow against the darkened walls. Neal leaned against the wall and watched until a pale blue light danced across the sleeve of his coat.

For a moment, Neal stared, uncertain where the new hue had come from. Then he looked down and saw gems rolling across the floor. Trying to stay away from the swordplay, he crawled across the floor and picked the gems up. He held one up and surveyed it as he heard worried sounding but indiscernible shouts. Hurriedly, and without much thought, he put the gems in his coat pocket.

Neal turned around to see Peter running over to him, worry etched into every line of his face. Then Neal looked up and saw a smear of red lingering on the white wall between two jousting suits of armor. He thought, though wasn't positive, it was where Peter had just been standing. He swallowed hard as firm hands pressed against his shoulders, and he heard Peter say,"I do appreciate the concern, and the help, but I think you should be more worried about you right now."

As Peter tried to look Neal over, Neal ran his hands all over Peter, frantically looking for signs of injury. All he found, before Peter clasped his hands together and held them that way, was a long rip in the sleeve of his suit jacket, "Neal, I'm fine."

Peter steered Neal back towards the wall behind which his opponent now lie unconscious and sat down with him. Neal leaned against the wall and started to slide down it to the cool tile, not far from being unconscious himself.

As Neal held his head in his hands, hoping that that might make everything stop seeming slightly sideways, Mozzie and Sara appeared in the gallery's entryway. He listened to their following conversation with Peter, wavering between trying to follow it and just letting the world slip away.

"Neal?" Mozzie and Sara both asked, with a mix of surprise and concern, as they looked from Peter to Neal to the unconscious man.

"What's he doing here, Peter?" Sara asked after a moment.

"Honestly, I think he was trying to help. And he did, actually," Peter said shaking his head, "But I also think he's completely delirious."

"Do you want us to go out to the van and find Jones and Diana and let them know that you knocked this guy out?" Sara asked, gesturing to the other swordsman.

"They've been listening in," Peter said, tapping his watch, "but if you could keep an eye on Neal and our unconscious thief for me while I go find them."

"Well, I'm ready if he wants to start something," Sara said as she pulled a baton out of her purse.

"Thanks," Peter said before pulling himself up and starting to run down to far end of the gallery and on towards the entrance.

"Peter..." Neal said in what was meant to be simply a sound of worry but came out as more a broken sob; he was still unconvinced that Peter had come out of the duel unscathed.

"He's coming back," Mozzie said as he sat down next to Neal. "Hopefully sooner than later. Being in a museum after hours, and not pulling some kind of heist, does things to a con-man."

"You're not worried about the curse anymore?" Sara asked as she leaned nonchalantly against the opposing wall, holding her baton over the unconscious man. "And I was just starting to think you might have a point with the whole thing."

"Now that we're returning the statues to Egypt, the curse should lift on its own," Mozzie replied.

"Neal, do we ever have a story for you later," Sara said as she glanced back at Mozzie.

"It involves a damsel in distress," Mozzie started to explain.

"Yeah, you," Sara said dryly.

"An unfortunate number of a beetles," Mozzie continued to which Sara gave a nod of agreement. "The expert discovery of the missing statues, a great fire, and epic romance."

"And a lot of hyperbole," Sara added when Mozzie finished. "We weren't even there for the fire."

Neal, unsure what Mozzie and Sara were talking about, had zoned out of the conversation and was focusing again on the faint red imprint on the wall, "Make sure he's okay, Moz."

"Who? ...The Suit?" Mozzie asked, as he eyed Neal quizzically. "Neal, he just went to find the demi-suits."

"And he looked fine to me," Sara added as she gave Neal another concerned glance.

"Just make sure," Neal insisted as he collapsed onto Mozzie's shoulder.