Two decades later.
Peter's eyes roam across the three framed photos on his desk. He finds himself doing that a lot recently. Maybe I'm becoming sentimental in my old age, he thinks wryly. He spent the last decades of his life looking forward, but now that his time at the Bureau is coming to a close, it may be the right time to look back for once. An important part of his life is almost over and that deserves to be acknowledged. His work with the FBI and the people he met made him the man he is today.
Peter's eyes drift back to the pictures. The first one is a picture of Elizabeth and him from their 35. wedding anniversary and the second one is of his latest promotion a few years back. Both photographs feature important events in his life. Yet it's the third, slightly yellowed snapshot of four blithe people, that captures his attention. It is a remnant of bygone times, having been taken over 20 years ago on a sidewalk in Manhattan. He remembers that day with unusual clarity. He and his team finally managed to take down a huge money laundering ring, after months of investigation, surveillance and undercover work. When they were standing on the street in front of the busted headquarters, joking around and basking in their success, a probie approached them and asked if he could take a photo. Neal being Neal, readily agreed.
From a professional point of view, the picture is imperfect. Jones' has his hands stuffed in his pockets, Diana's eyes are hidden behind her sunglasses, Peter's tie is loosened and Neal's hat is perched somewhat crookedly on his head. But the way they lean into each other, with the same contented smile gracing all of their faces... That's what makes it perfect to Peter. A moment of unadulterated happiness, frozen in time forever.
He obtained little satisfaction from the assassin's conviction, because in the end it didn't change a damn thing. No verdict could bring Neal back. No verdict could fill the void in their midst. No verdict could fix what broke inside Peter that day in the penthouse.
In the years following Neal's untimely demise their team slowly fell apart. Working together just wasn't the same anymore, the group dynamics were... damaged. Diana and Jones did their best to bridge the gap, but when it comes down to it their presence made Neal's absence even more pronounced.
Peter never found it with another person, that undefinable ease that constituted his partnership with Neal. Sure, he worked with a lot of fellow agents in the course of the years (sometimes more, sometimes less successful). But that is all they were to him. Fellow agents, colleagues, co-workers... never partners.
Peter sighs and shakes his head. Enough of this. There is no need to dwell on that now. He came to terms with Neal's passing years ago.
What was it Elizabeth said? Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened. We should remember all the good times we had with Neal. He wouldn't want us to be depressed, honey. He'd want us to drink vintage wine and tell people about his venturous deeds. He'd want us to live.
So yes, the ache of his loss may still be there, and Peter feels it whenever he crosses path with someone who wears a fedora or when he reads about some spectacular art heist in the paper, but eventually he learned to live with it.
Nowadays he almost welcomes the slight twinge in his chest, as a memento of the mere fact that Neal was really there. That their friendship was really there. Because in the end, that was what mattered.
Peter smiles. His wife is a very wise woman.
He glances at his watch. If he hits the road now, he has enough time for a stop at the wine store before dinner.
After one last look at the pictures Peter rises from his seat, puts his jacket on and turns off the light.
Ende