This is my first time ever posting, so any tips would be cool

Thank you to everyone who reviewed, it is really encouraging to see people enjoying the story!

I do not own white collar, just in love with Matt Bomer... all characters, quotes, etc. belong to USA network

Warning for attempted suicide

*****************Some things weren't making sense so I went back and edited this chapter, changed a couple things towards the end. Sorry it's been a while but I'm back, next chapter should be up shortly : )

Peter was back at Sing-Sing merely hours after his first visit that day, only this time he was accompanied with Jones. Upon hearing the agents' inquiry about Neal Caffrey, the beefy prison guard gave his older looking partner a wary look, one that did not go past Peter's watchful eye unnoticed, which only helped to add to his feeling of unease.

"Is there something you aren't telling us?" Peter questioned.

The beefy guard hesitated, glancing a look back at his partner again, as if asking permission to tell the agents the truth. Receiving a nod, before the older guard turned and left the conversation, he continued.

"Look fellas, Caffrey's been in here a few days now, and he's a quiet one, bit of a loner. He's barely said a word to anyone. It's been a pain in the ass getting him out of that cell for yard time or even to eat, and he barely made it out of bed for visitation"But he's not causing any trouble so there isn't much for us to do."

Peter shot a concerned glance at Jones; his heart tugged for the pain Neal must be in. The man he knew was always social and lively, the exact opposite of the man that the guards just described. It was clear that Neal was not taking Kate's death well at all, but really, why did he expect anything different? Peter knew nearly all of Neal's actions this past year were with Kate in mind; hell, he would not doubt it if Neal only wanted the deal in the first place to get back with her again.

Coming back to the matter at hand, Peter turned his attention back to the guard. "We need to see him. Can you show us to his cell?"

"Look, visiting hours are over, why don't you come back tomorrow morning, I'm sure he'll be in the same spot as he is now, probably won't move an inch even if we wanted him to."

Peter was not about to take no for an answer. Done with the pleasant formalities, he angrily pulled out his badge and shoved it in the man's face, close enough that the man's nervous breaths produced fog on the shiny metal.

"Do you know what this badge means? It means we are in the Federal Bureau of Investigation and we do not enjoy it when people waste our time. So when I say that I need to see one of the prisoners here, I am telling you, not asking you." He continued his tirade in the same authoritative voice, irritation dripping from each word. "So unless you want me to get in touch with the warden and explain to him how you're interfering with an FBI investigation, I'd advise that you take us to see Neal. Now."

"Y-yes, sir," the guard stammered, not wanting to be in any trouble with his boss. "If you follow this way I can you take you to him r-right away."

The pair swiftly followed the guard through the security door and down the hall towards the cells.

"And that's how you get things done," Peter whispered to Jones, who had stayed quiet during Peter's reprimand, impressed by Peter's ability to scare the guard into letting them through. That was something Peter definitely would not have done were he not seriously worried about his friend.

Upon approaching the cell which the guard identified as Neal's, Peter felt a chill run through his body, sensing something was off. Picking up his pace, Peter finally reached the bleak cell, his heart hammering in his chest. However, he relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief when he noted Neal to be asleep. He sure needs it, Peter thought, remembering the dark shadows under the man's eyes from their meeting earlier in the day. It took him a moment to realize, however, that Neal was not asleep. He froze for an instant when he spotted blood on Neal's sheets and noticed the pallor of his face as well as the clamminess of his skin.

"Neal!" Peter shouted, rushing over to his friend. "God, Neal, what did you do?" Peter grabbed fistfuls of the bed sheets, attempting to bandage the arm wounds and halt the blood loss, haphazardly wrapping sheets around each arm, paling when he noticed how fast the sheets were staining red.

Jones and the prison guard stood by the doorway staring at the scene in front of them, both too shocked to move, and unaware of how to help.

Not daring to take his eyes off his dying best friend, yet still trying to keep his FBI reasoned mind, Peter ordered to the guard behind him. "Call for a doctor! He couldn't have done this too long ago, there isn't that much blood yet, but he's losing it fast; he needs to get up to the infirmary, and fast." Peter felt his heartbeat rush into his ears and panic begin to overwhelm as he realized this was actually happening; it was not just some nightmare he could wake up from.

Now cradling Neal in his arms, Peter gently shook the man in an attempt to rouse him from unconscious. Peter begged the man whom he considered a part of his family to wake up, feeling the beginning of tears wet his eyes at the thought of Neal dying. "Come on Neal, buddy, be okay, please be okay. God, just open your eyes for me, please."

Upon receiving no response, Peter's body, wracking with unreleased sobs, shook Neal's. He let the built-up tears in his eyes fall, wondering how it came to this, how he was so blind to the level of pain Neal was in when he spoke to him earlier that day; how Neal was able to put up such a strong façade, even when the pain he was in was too much for the one man to live with.

Peter felt plagued with guilt as he looked down on the once happy, overly enthusiastic, charming conman. How did I let it come to this? He thought.

"Please, Neal, just open your eyes, be okay," hoping for, but not expecting an answer, Peter gave a frantic laugh when his desperate plea was rewarded with Neal's voice.

"Hmmm" Neal's eyes began to flutter open.

"Neal!" Peter swallowed the lump in his throat, "Hang in there, buddy; just stay with me okay?"

"Pet'r? W'happn'd?" Neal slurred, discomfort and confusion apparent in his slurred voice.

Peter breathed a sigh of relief at hearing Neal semi-coherent, but he knew they were not out of the woods yet.

"Don't worry about that right now Neal, just focus on staying awake okay? The doctor's gonna come help ya out now, let him take care of you."

"'kay" Neal exhaled, too tired to do anything else or even to put up a fight. He really was not sure what was happening, or why he felt so crappy, but he trusted that Peter had his back and was thinking of his best interests. In his disoriented state, he momentarily forgot how he ended up in this position in the first place.

Peter opened his mouth to speak more encouraging words to him again just as Neal's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he was met with the sweet numbness of unconsciousness.

"Neal!" Peter shouted, just as prison doctors entered, pushing him to the side so they could secure their patient. Peter watched as they leaned over his friend and worked to save his life.

"Found a pulse, but it's weak!"

"Stats are dropping; he's losing too much blood!"

"He's as secure as we're going to get him here; we need to get him over to the infirmary, now!"

The two medical personnel carefully placed Neal's body on a stretcher and rolled him towards the infirmary, hoping he could hold on long enough until they were within reach of their medical equipment. As they wheeled past the other inmates in the wing, nearly everyone was leaning against their cell bars, neglecting to feign sleep at the late hour to get even a glimpse of the drama.

The Guard from earlier finally found his voice again, informing the two agents of the prison policies. "You two can't be here any longer I'm sorry. Even if this were about some investigation, Caffrey's in no shape to help with it right now. You can come back tomorrow morning during visitor hours, or we'll call you if there's an…update…any sooner." Not missing the implication in his words, Peter prayed he would not get a phone call from the prison before morning.

Peter sat up from Neal's empty bed, covered in his best friend's blood, knowing there was no point in arguing with the guard, because there was nothing to be done except let the doctors do their jobs Peter could only hope that his friend would survive this.

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Peter paced in front of the entrance of the prison, checking his watch more times as the seconds went by. Each minute passed by agonizingly slow, waiting for the clock to strike 9:00 AM so he could visit Neal.

How could I have let this happen? Was all Peter could think as he continued his pacing. Although he did not receive any 'updates' between the time he was ushered out of the prison last night and standing in the prison doorway this morning, worst case scenarios still plagued his mind. He imaged the prison doctor coming out, informing him that they tried their best, but Neal had lost too much blood, or possibly worse, that Neal had woken up frantically and decided to finish off his life once and for all.

No. Don't think like that. He's all right. He's Neal Caffrey; he's always okay.

He would give anything for that to be true, for Neal to really be okay. He would wish nothing more than to have Neal walk over to him and joke about seeing actual tears in the eyes of his normally unmoved, emotionally distant handler, or to have him sitting next to him in the seat of his Taurus, complaining about his driving, or even at the office, distracting agents from their work with his ever-present charm. He wondered if he would ever get that Neal Caffrey back.

Ding Ding Ding

The alarm on his phone went off, alerting him that he was finally allowed admittance to visitation. He immediately walked in, not exactly sure in what state of mind or body he would find his friend.

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