"Could I please have a large cappuccino? With an extra shot…. Yes, in a to-go cup, if you please." Peter handed the barrister his money and stepped away from the counter. He loved coffee. It ranked as his number one beverage ever – higher even than beer. After a stressful day at work, caffeine was the one thing that could be counted on to calm Peter down. And God, had today been stressful. Chasing Neal Caffrey round a school, watching him smash through windows and dodge bullets… before finally running out of steam and ending up in Peter's custody. Now Peter had to babysit the kid in hospital. He wondered what El would make of that.

"Scuse me, sir, can I have a name?" Peter glanced up at the barrister with a distracted air. The round faced teenager had a sharpie poised over Peter's coffee cup, expectation dancing behind his spectacles. Peter analysed him automatically. He had an artist's fingers: deft and slender. Mischievous intelligence gleamed in his eyes.

"Name?" Peter asked dumbly. He wasn't in a very responsive mood. "Uh… Neal." He said after a pregnant pause, simply because it was the first word that came to mind. The Starbucks guy wrote it down dutifully and passed the cup on to his colleague, leaving Peter cringing. Neal sodding Caffrey. The teenager had permeated his mind to such an extent he was appearing on Peter's coffee cups! He shook his head morosely. He had to get a life.

Peter walked out of the coffee shop with a purposeful stride and winced when he hit the streets of New York. It was late autumn and the feral elements were out in full force. Rivers of frigid air hounded him as he hurried round the block, and the night air tasted like snow. By the time Peter got back to the hospital where Neal would be staying the night, the fingers clasped around his coffee cup were numb and his face was red and stinging. Trying not to shiver, Peter pushed through the double doors of the hospital and headed to the lift. Neal was on the fifth floor, under police guard until he was pronounced well enough to be interrogated in White Collar headquarters. Of course, that was assuming that Neal didn't escape first. If there was one thing that Peter had learnt over the past three years, it was that Neal Caffrey was one hell of a slippery fish.

Peter passed the bustling reception area and saw that the doors of the lift were just beginning to close. The lone person inside was making no effort to stop them. With a half-hearted lunge, Peter tried to grab the doors, but the metal plates slammed shut seconds before he could reach the button.

"Brilliant." Peter sighed, as he sipped at his still steaming cappuccino. "Jones, I'm back from the coffee place." He announced into his wristwatch, ignoring the stares from passersby. Stares that clearly said thank God we're in a hospital because this chap is obviously mental. "I'll be up to relieve you in five." Peter continued. He was rewarded with a crackly reply from his agent upstairs.

Peter allowed his mind to wander as he waited for the lift. He had to hand it to Jones. The loyal agent had stood at Neal's bedside for half an hour whilst Peter had been tracking down a decent cup of coffee, and he hadn't complained once. Peter knew that he had to send Jones home now. His agent was just itching to get away from the hospital and wash the blood stain from his shirt. Peter sighed. The blood stain. When they had been transporting Neal from the school to headquarters earlier that afternoon, Neal had suddenly keeled over in the back seat of the car and ended up on Jones' lap. That was when Peter had realised that the wound on Neal's arm was a lot more than just a scratch. He had shouted at the driver to take them to hospital, before ripping off his tie and using it as a sort of tourniquet. It had been too late to save Jones' once white shirt, but Peter's efforts helped stem the bleeding just enough to keep Neal conscious. Please, Neal, stay with me. It's gonna be alright. Dammit Neal, just hang on. Peter had whispered in the teenager's ear, before the young criminal had been lifted onto a stretcher and carted into A and E. The con's hands had remained in chains throughout.

Ding.

Peter looked up, his reverie broken. The doors of the lift had opened smoothly, revealing a shiny interior and a potted plant in one corner. He stepped inside and pressed the button for the fifth floor.

"Hey! Wait!" Peter stopped, grey eyes tracking the voice. A young man sporting glasses was sprinting up the stairs. He dived towards the lift (nearly dropping his briefcase in the process) and grappled at the doors. Peter stabbed the button and the man slid through without a second to spare. "Thanks, Suit." He panted, placing his briefcase on the floor. "Nothing frustrates me more than chasing lifts. Although in hindsight, it wouldn't have been disastrous if I had missed this one. To quote the English proverb, good things come to those who wait." Peter nodded absently, barely listening to the chatter whilst he unlocked his iPhone. He was going to text El an apology. He was planning to stay the night at the hospital – he had to help NYPD keep an eye on Neal. He also wanted to question the kid if he woke up and generally make sure that he was alright after being grazed by a bullet. But before his fingers could tap out the message, something made him pause. His FBI training kicked in and he surreptitiously studied the young man who was now poking the potted plant in the corner.

He was in his late teens, with a round face and spectacles. He had called Peter "Suit." Peter knew that that was a street name for federal agent. He also looked very familiar. Peter narrowed his eyes. This was the same guy who had served him coffee in Starbucks not ten minutes ago! Though he was now wearing a checked shirt and a bow tie (he looked like a right tatterdemalion) it was undoubtedly the same kid.

"Tired of making coffee?" Peter asked, tone mordant. The teenager jumped and looked at him guiltily.

"Uh…"

"What's your name?" Peter asked.

"Don…tay. Dante Haversham."

"Pull the other one. It has bells on it." Peter raised his eyebrows when Haversham didn't answer. "What floor you headed to?"

"Fifth. How bout you, Suit?"

"Fifth as well. What a coincidence." They stepped out of the lift together, and Peter watched as "Dante Haversham" wandered off with his briefcase in tow, humming something that sounded suspiciously like the batman theme. Peter suspected that this wouldn't be the last time he crossed paths with the interesting young man.

There were two policemen sitting outside the door to Neal's private room. Peter saw that they were both playing Temple Run on their smart phones, though it was obvious that neither of them were very good at it. He cleared his throat, waiting for them to notice him. The two officers jumped when they saw him standing there.

"Agent Burke-"

"Just let me in." The younger of the two fumbled for his keys and hurried to open the door.

Peter paced into the room and made a beeline for the sleeping Neal Caffrey. With his eyes closed and his face relaxed, the kid looked innocent. Vulnerable. His right ankle was in plaster, and Peter could just see the bandages wrapped around his chest peeking out from beneath his shirt. Stitches and gauze covered the cut on his left arm.

"Will he be alright?" Peter asked the nurse. She was a young and pretty creature – Peter had already seen the male doctors making bets on who would ask her out first. But she also had a down to earth vibe that demanded respect. She tossed her curls at him.

"We expect him to make a full recovery. Are you his legal guardian?"

"No. I'm FBI. His guardian is out of the country, so I suppose you could say that he's my responsibility until she returns." Peter tore his eyes away from Neal long enough to answer. The nurse looked sceptical.

"How long will that be?"

"6 months. Ish. She's travelling the world with her daughter. Neal over there lives in her apartment. She sends him letters and stuff, but there's no way to contact her whilst she's away." The nurse examined her perfect fingernails. If her expression could talk, it would say why are you telling me this? Peter himself wasn't even sure why. Neal ending up in hospital had stressed him out more than he cared to admit, and it felt good to talk to someone. Even if that someone was probably bored out of her skull.

"How long will his ankle be in plaster for?" Peter asked, nodding his head at the sleeping teenager. The nurse sighed.

"Not long. A month at the most. It's only a sprain, but the x-rays show a few complications. Your agent…?"

"Jones. Agent Jones."

"Yes. Well, your agent said that Neal was running on the ankle for about 40 minutes after the initial injury. That certainly won't aid his recovery." She looked at Peter accusingly, as if to say I bet it was you who made the poor boy run on his sprained ankle! Peter huffed; indignant. The nurse had an annoying habit of saying a lot without even opening her mouth.

"Well, I'm pleased that he'll be ok." Peter said, to fill the awkward silence. Despite his nonchalant air, the thought gave him a warm, tingling feeling. The kid was going to be alright. Well, as alright as one could be when faced with a prison sentence that equalled the number of years Neal had been on the planet… though Peter didn't like to dwell on that. Sure, Neal had made some bad choices, but did he deserve prison? Peter didn't think so, at least.

"So, what did he do?" The nurse asked quietly. Peter followed her gaze to the handcuff that tethered Neal's left wrist to the headboard. He shifted uncomfortably.

"I don't believe that I'm at liberty to say." The nurse opened her mouth to protest, but the door of the ward swung open before she could speak.

"Neal, I liquidised some assets… Oh fiddlesticks." Peter whirled around. Standing in the doorway holding his briefcase aloft, was none other than 'Dante Haversham'.

"You have got to be kidding me." Peter growled. Haversham took a step back.

"Hah. Hah, silly me. Wrong room! I'll just, uh, take my leave. See you around, Suit."

"Not so fast." Peter stared down at the one-time barrister incredulously. "How in hell did you get past the guards at the door?" Haversham shrugged.

"I told them a cheat for Temple Run."

"I bet you did… Who are you?" Haversham didn't answer.

"Moz? Mozzie… Is that… is that you?" The nurse snapped her head up at the feeble voice and rushed to Neal's bedside.

"He's waking up. Call the doctor." Peter arched his eyebrows at Haversham.

"Mozzie, huh? I'll deal with you later." He ushered the kid out of the room, annoyed that he didn't have the evidence to arrest him. What had he meant by "liquidised some assets"? Peter suspected that Mozzie was one of Neal's criminal friends, but there was nothing he could do about that now. He hurried over to where Neal lay sprawled out on the bed.

Neal cracked open his eyes and surveyed the room. His head throbbed and he felt strangely woozy, like the world was spinning in slow motion.

"P-P'ter?" His unfocused blue eyes locked onto the familiar face. "Wha… what's going…on?" Neal tried to sit up, but he found that his arm was chained to the bed. Panic blossomed as the memories slowly clicked into place. He had been arrested. What the hell? Neal fought to stay calm. "Peter? What's happening? What… what are you…" But his voice grew weaker as he battled to finish the sentence. He felt his mind slip back beneath the feathery waves of unconsciousness.

"I just added more sedative to the drip." An unfamiliar female voice floated towards him from across the void. "He'll be perfectly coherent tomorrow. Let him rest." Neal struggled against the weight of the drug, refusing to give in. Peter's concerned face swam into view.

"Neal, it's ok. You can trust me. Everything is going to be fine." It was the last thing that Neal heard before he drifted back to sleep.

Peter sighed and exited the small ward, leaving the teenager to dream. Why had he sounded like his own father just then? Peter vividly remembered falling off the monkey bars when he was seven years old. His dad had taken him to the hospital, where the scary doctors had stitched up the gash in his chin. Throughout the ordeal, his father had remained by his side, telling him that everything would be ok. Peter's mind flashed back to the conversation he had had with El earlier. How they had discussed fostering a teenager in the warmth of their kitchen. He shook himself mentally. Neal Caffrey was a criminal. If Peter didn't stop acting like he was the kid's goddamned father, Neal would use it against him. Steeling himself, Peter went to find more coffee. There had to be a coffee machine somewhere in this sinister, white walled hospital.

"Burke? Can I have a moment?" Peter spun around. Standing in the corridor with his arms akimbo was his boss, Hughes. Peter grunted and followed the older man into the empty fifth floor waiting room, where they sat facing each other.

"What's this about?" Peter asked, apprehensive. Hughes was making it clear that this was not a pleasure visit.

"Congratulations on catching Caffrey at long last." Hughes started. Peter leaned back in his tattered chair. He sensed that there was a but coming. "But OPR called. They disapproved of your methods. They want you to attend a small tribunal to determine whether or not arresting Caffrey at his school was the best move."

"What?" Peter spluttered. "Of course it was! If we had struck at any other time he would have gotten away for sure." Hughes held up a gnarled hand.

"I agree with you, Peter. But OPR doesn't. And as much as I hate to admit it, they do have a point. You arrested Caffrey, an unarmed teenager, in the middle of the school day. You brought live ammunition into an educational facility, and there is a high risk that the parents, faculty, students, even the lunch ladies will sue the FBI. The political fallout could be impressive. Heads will roll, Peter, and yours will be the first on the chopping block."

Peter looked stunned. "Can I just say - there was a very high possibility that Caffrey was armed. I acted the way I did because Caffrey has the potential to be extremely dangerous-"

"Save it for the tribunal." Hughes sighed. He stood up, brushed down his three piece suit and walked out, leaving Peter to simmer. Neal sodding Caffrey indeed.

This chapter was rather Peter orientated... hope you enjoyed it! Would love to hear what you thought of it :)