Peter sat at the edge of his cot as he watched the rise and fall of his wife's chest. They'd both been through hell, and seeing her safe and sound next to him, even in a hospital room, had released the tourniquet that had been strapped around his chest all day. He took a long, luxurious breath himself and sighed contentedly, reaching over and rubbing her bandaged arm gently.
Running through the warehouse had been terrifying: to be so close and so far away- too far away, he'd been afraid. He had finally found the damn door he'd been looking for about five from the end, which amazingly had opened into another hallway full of damn doors. If he'd been less focused he would have screamed at the insanity of it all. Luckily, his eyes had gone straight across and down one door to the right, where a giant oaf was looming just inside the room with his muscles tensed in a classic position. Peter swore that "FBI, drop your weapon!" never sounded as satisfying as it did in that moment of watching what turned out to be the last of Keller's men angrily lower his hands.
Diana had taken the pleasure of arresting the Zach Ramsey, and the backup reported finding two other men knocked unconscious seconds later. Meanwhile, Peter swore his heart stopped when he stepped into the room and finally saw El—dirty and sweaty and bloody and practically crying in relief. He swooped over to her as Jones called in an ambulance, checking the vitals of the blonde that was no doubt Brooke Werner, a bruised and bloody mess panting to keep from passing out where she lay.
Peter and his wife had sat in an eternal moment on that disgusting, dirty floor; eyes locked as they remained just staring at each other with tear-filled eyes, reveling in the relief of finding each other once again. Of course, the moment was ruined when El suddenly winced in pain, and Peter realized a bullet had grazed his wife's forearm and she was bleeding. The ambulance had arrived soon after and loaded up both girls, carrying them off to Bellevue.
Brooke was treated with a heavy dose of antibiotics for a severe infection and her broken ankle had to be re-broken and set properly. While the doctors took her into surgery to clean her up and begin treatment, another team tried to examine his wife while Peter hovered, flashing his badge fanatically in an effort to stay as close to the woman as humanly possible. Since she only had minor scratches and bruising from her ordeal, the doctor was lenient, and patching up the open tear from the graze, had cleared El to go clean herself up with the help of a nurse.
While she was gone, the doctor explained her decision to keep his wife overnight in the hospital for observation, discussing the potential trauma associated with this type of situation. Peter nodded in understanding, and when El returned, looking much better in a pair of sweats and a nightshirt someone on his team had dutifully brought from his home, he tried to be calm and reassuring as he explained the doctor's decision.
Of course, his wife was too clever to believe her husband's tone: she wrapped him up in a tight hug, molding her body against his and whispering words of comfort while FBI Special Agent Peter Burke broke down, barely able to breathe at the weight of almost losing his wife and the relief of finding her safe again, even if she was confined to an overnight stay in the hospital instead of back home in their bed.
For everything Peter had been through, however, it wasn't over after his wife's safety was ensured. He'd been informed of the team's movement to Neal's location, and Peter wanted to be there to watch that bastard Keller get taken down. So when Elizabeth had drifted off to sleep, Hughes suggested that he take a moment to collect himself before the two of them drove out to the docks.
And then Keller's call. All of the adrenaline that had ravaged his body searching for El now made a second trip as he heard the gunfire that put his partner—con man or not—in danger.
They'd just gotten off of the Williamsburg Bridge when Rice's call came in: shots fired, visual on Caffrey, Keller was down. They were a minute away from the scene when Rice's voice came across the radio, screaming for a second bus, that Neal had been hit. Peter felt the blood drain from his face, and he was rushing, stumbling from the car the second he'd screeched to a halt at the scene. The ambulance was just behind him, and Peter had enough time to crouch over Neal, pressing his jacket on the now-bleeding hole that had ripped through his jacket and dress shirt.
"Come on Neal," he pleaded, wondering where the hell the EMTs were. "You've done a lot of stupid things today, but you're not going to finish like this—not after everything. Just hold on."
They'd loaded Neal and Keller up then, rushing them both to the same hospital as El and Brooke. Peter let Rice handle Keller, instead spending the majority of his time running back and forth between his wife and Neal. When the doctor reported it had just been a ricochet, Neal would be fine, Peter headed back to Elizabeth's room, which his wife had convinced some sympathetic orderlies to scrounge up an extra cot to place beside her own for him so her husband could try to get some sleep. It may have been all for naught, however, as he kept ducking out every now and then to check on the recovering con man. When Sara had shown up soon after, he'd been extremely grateful that someone else could also be there for Neal and had handed her his FBI windbreaker in order to circumvent any nurses' questions or attempts to implement visiting hours.
"Hey hun," El whispered, stirring him from his thoughts. He looked into her eyes, her bright, beautiful blue eyes, and smiled, his own brown ones threatening to tear up again. "Have you gotten any sleep?"
He shrugged, scooting closer to the edge of his cot to be nearer to her. "A little," he lied.
She shook her head slightly, obviously not believing him. "You worried about Neal?" she asked.
"I'm worried about you," he told her, bringing her hand to his lips and squeezing it gently between his fingers. Upon another scrutinizing look from the love of his life, he shrugged again. "And maybe Neal a little—it's 85-15; 70-30 max." He adjusted his torso to face her better. "I don't want to talk about Neal now," he told her.
The gorgeous brunette smirked as she brought her hand toward Peter's face, tracing along his jaw lightly. "It's okay to be worried—you care about him, and he did get shot."
"So did you; and anyways, you were the one that said he was going to have to deal with the consequences for his actions," Peter reminded her.
"It's just a graze, and yes, I did say that," she agreed. "That doesn't mean you can't want to help him. And besides, I doubt you thought one of the consequences would be a standoff with Keller and the Russian Mob."
The agent sighed, allowing himself to flop back onto the uncomfortable bed. "I don't know what to do," he told her. "What he did was commit a major felony behind my back, knowing full well that it would send him back to prison for good, and still-a part of me wants to protect him."
"Because he matters to you," the woman reminded him. "Whether you want to admit it right now or not Peter, Neal's not just your CI—he's your friend." He considered the words again as she echoed Kramer's earlier thoughts.
He smiled, temporarily pulled from his dilemma as he felt El crawl across the bed to rest her head on his chest. Even in this stark white room, on these horrible beds with stiff sheets, machines dotting the walls, and an awful buzzing noise that seemed to accompany all hospitals—he couldn't help but think that this moment was perfect. The fragrance of his wife's hair wafting towards him; her skin soft and gentle as it maintained its grasp on his hand; and the quiet, steady thrumming of both their hearts, completely in rhythm, perfectly matched.
Peter couldn't help it. For the umpteenth time in the last twelve hours, he found himself overwhelmed by the raw emotion of the day's events and felt his eyes welling up, tears silently coursing down his cheeks.
Of course Elizabeth noticed. She raised herself up to face him, "Hun," she whispered, kissing his cheek and hugging him tightly.
"I could've lost you today," he whispered, clinging to her as he voiced the terrifying idea. "Both of you. I could have…"
El just maintained their tight embrace and whispered soothing words, waiting for Peter to finish.
"It's all my fault," he whispered.
"Never," she told him firmly. "It's not your fault, or Neal's, or anyone's but Keller's. Don't you ever think for one minute that this was something anyone could have seen coming Peter. You are a wonderful husband, and a wonderful agent, and you are not responsible for any of this."
He shut his eyes tightly to block out the awful thoughts, taking steadying breaths as his amazing wife pressed gently into his neck, smoothing out the tension.
"I'm sorry," he told her, roughly brushing the dampness from his eyes. "You'd think it was me here for observation, the way I'm freaking out."
Elizabeth smiled, kissing him softly. "It's been a really hard day for both of us," she told him, entwining their hands together; letting them both take comfort in the other. "I was so scared. But I never doubted you'd find us."
Peter chuckled. "And yet you felt the need to break out."
"Well, Brooke was getting anxious. She threatened to hobble away, with or without me—I couldn't let her injure her ankle even more."
The two laughed quietly. "I take it booby-trapping the door was her idea?" Peter asked. El nodded. "How'd she muster up enough power to take out the second guy?"
El grinned. "That was me."
Peter's face went wide with surprise. "You? You knocked out that guy with a chair?" His wife giggled, and the agent pulled her into his chest. "Just when I think I know, you find another way to show me just how amazing you are."
They lay there together in comfortable silence, Peter listening as El's breathing became steady and she drifted back to sleep, and he gingerly replaced her onto her (slightly) more comfortable bed. He then stood to walk down the hall to the bathroom to wash his face and stretch his legs.
While heading back he saw the indisputable stride of Sara Ellis, a coffee in each hand, as a man in scrubs walked beside her carrying a cot. Peter waved, and she murmured something to the other man before breaking off from her path and stand by the agent.
"Hey," she greeted him, handing him a cup. "How's Elizabeth?"
"She's good," Peter told her, nodding. "She's resting right now; I think she's going to be okay." He took a sip of the liquid. "Gah-" he spat, face warping in surprise. "This isn't coffee."
"No; it's three in the morning and you just finished an ordeal that's left you physically and mentally exhausted- it's tea." Sara gave him an appraising look. "How are you holding up?"
"Oh you know," he began, and then met her gaze. "I'm exhausted," the man admitted. "But I think I'm afraid of what might change if I close my eyes. I'm just still too worked up to sleep yet; maybe once we get home."
"Yeah," Sara placated him. "Well, just to take something off of your plate: Neal's awake." She explained at his surprised expression. "He came around a little while ago; I was going to let him rest until the morning," she told him.
"Yeah, that's probably a good idea," Peter agreed. "I don't think it's too much to put things off a couple more hours. How's Brooke?"
"Still playing possum," Sara told him. "I don't think she wants to talk to anyone with a badge, and running around in an FBI windbreaker is making me look somewhat suspicious." She glanced at the agent. "You worried?"
"Nah," he replied, shaking his head. "After associating with the company Neal keeps, I'm starting to think that just may be some people's natural state."
"Well, now that Neal's okay, I think I'm going to set up a cot in the room," Sara told Peter. "Maybe get in a couple hours of rest myself."
"Absolutely," Peter told her. "You deserve it. And Sara?" she looked back at him. "Thank you, for the tea...and your part in all of this. I'm not sure what you did, but I appreciate it."
"Anytime Peter," Sara smiled, then turned and headed back to the con's room.
A/N: I know, El really should be having more issues than this, but I honestly see Peter as the one that's going to break first- he totally seems like the more emotional of the two. Plus, he really has just been put through the wringer (and he's not even done!), so I figured if just one was going to fall apart tonight, it'd probably be him.
A/A/N: Just to toss out any weird readings into the Brooke thing- she's not a bad guy or scheming or anything; she just doesn't like Feds (what good fence does?)