Watching horrified as their consultant slid under the oily surface of the river, Jones gasped his supervisor's name, even as he gripped the tiny flailing body and pulled the toddler into his chest. Climbing the ladder with the small sobbing form tucked against his ribs, he tried to ignore the soft splash that told him Peter when dove from the ladder. As soon as he was standing firmly on the dock, wrapping the emergency blanket around the child, he risked a look back at the water, hoping to see his boss emerge with the young man he pursued, but the surface remained smooth as glass while agonizing seconds drifted past. "Come on… Come on" he heard Diana mutter as they waited. His mind echoed her sentiment… it was taking too long. The soft slap of gentle waves against the ice covered bank seemed to echo in the tense quiet.

When Peter popped up, gasping, the first time several yards down river the younger agent fought back the temptation to jump in and join the search, only a glance at the nearly sleeping boy in his arms stopped him as he remembered he had something important to take care of too. Will's lips were blue and his shivering had all but stopped.

"Hey buddy" the agent nudged the drowsy toddler 'you with me?" a sleepy nod and tiny finger twining into his shirt was his only response. Neal risked his life to ensure the safety of the child, Jones couldn't let him succumb to hypothermia in his arms. "Come on, little man, let's get you warmed up." He touched Diana's shoulder "I'm going to take Will here to the car and blast the heater… I don't think he's hurt but…" she nodded "let me know when Peter finds Caffrey."

"I will." Her tone was grave. Jones flinched inwardly and tried not to think about his friend's pale face looking up at him, eyes dull and desperate as his slim fingers slid weakly across the rung he clung to, losing his grip to the slow but relentless current. He tried not to picture the bruises and grey lips… and the blood that slipped across them as the young man drew a last shaky breath before his eyes rolled back and his head dropped into the waves. Like the river swallowed him whole, he had vanished instantly.

The walk back to the car took too long and his phone didn't light up with a text from Diana. To long… it was taking too long… He slumped into the front seat and started the engine. Slowly the heater began to take the edge off the chill. The little body in his lap began to tremble before his phone beeped.

He glanced at it nervously "Peter got him…" lit up the screen followed by "it doesn't look good". A quick look at the clock and Jones swallowed hard… at least they saved the boy…

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

Too late…

He knew it was too late… that the young man had been underwater to long, but he resurfaced quickly gasping for breath then dove back under, hands searching blindly in the dirty water. He had lost track of how many times he had surfaced but it didn't matter, he couldn't stop.

Slipping into the river felt like diving into a pile of needles at first but now his body was growing numb to the cold. The violent shivering that had impeded Peter's swimming fading away to almost nothing now. He reached forward again… his fingers brushed something soft and willowy, probably sea weed, the agent thought but he swept his hand through the area again. This time his trembling digits touched flesh…the cold skin of a cheek rough with stubble. Sliding his hand down the neck and shoulder he grabbed the pliable arm and pulled rapidly upward.

Breaking though into the sunlight, he drew a much needed breath as he wrapped one arm around his friend's chest, flinching at the way he had to prop Neal's head against his shoulder, the way it rolled to easily against his collar bone when he swam. Though water flowed between blue lips when the older man constricted his grip, Neal didn't gasp, didn't choke, did not react at all… simply lay against his friend like a threadbare rag doll. His icy skin the sickening faded grey-blue of a corpse. Too late… Peter pushed the thought away. He was not one to surrender without a fight and neither was Neal, this isn't over yet, he told himself fiercely, pulling for the bank desperately.

The swim back to the shore took an eternity. He could feel his friend's misshapen ribcage though the skin and he tried to hold him gently, afraid of causing more pain, but there wasn't the slightest flinch from the loose body even when the agent was forced to grip him tighter to swim against the current.

Reaching for the hands that stretched to pull them up caused Neal's head to loll forward, dipping his face once more into the water. Peter jerked back, adjusting the drooping, motionless body in his arms and pushing him into the waiting arms of four worried agents. Pulled from the lazy current by a friendly grasp and rapidly bundled into a silvery emergency blanket, he risked a look at the young man.

Neal lay quietly against the ice slick wood, his knees bent oddly to the right. His right arm lay beside his hip, palm up, fingers relaxed flat against the planks. He was absolutely still… his chest sunken and motionless. Someone was spreading a reflective blanket over his legs and stomach. A young agent Peter vaguely remembered as Davis and the officer… De Marco were huddled over his slack, unresponsive form, trying to resuscitate him.

The officer lay a plastic mask over his face and breathed into it, two quick breaths…up down, up down…still, so still.

Davis began pressing rapidly in the center of his breast… no pulse, Peter registered somberly. The young man did not respond, except for the water that trickled quietly between his colorless lips, spilling onto the planks. Silence reigned over the dock as the observers held their breath waiting for their friend to react, but his rib cage did not rise on its own… he didn't even twitch.

"Come on Neal" Peter muttered "Come on… fight. You have to fight. Right now, Neal!" Peter ordered under his breath. He wanted to believe … but the statistics rattled in his mind. Four minutes without oxygen meant brain damage… ten minutes equaled brain death. He swallowed unable to tear his eyes away from the frantic efforts to force life into his young friend's body.

"The cold might have bought him some time" Diana's voice was soft as she seemed to read his thoughts. She lay a reassuring hand on her boss' arm.

"Yeah… maybe." he didn't look at her. They were quiet for a long agonizing moment "how long was he in the water?"

"Seven minutes and twenty-seven seconds after he went under." she informed him quietly. Her lips compressed into a thin line. Peter nodded and struggled not to think about the young man's odds of survival… and even lower chances of recovery. Seconds ticked by as the two men continued their efforts with grim determination. He remembered suddenly.

"Where is Will?" he asked worriedly. Peter hadn't seen or heard the toddler since he handed him up to his subordinate. He glanced around fruitlessly. Surely Neal's efforts to save the child hadn't been as futile as his own.

"Jones took him to the cars to warm him up. He didn't look like he was hurt but he was awfully cold."

"Neal will be glad he's ok." The words were out before he thought… his eyes turned back to the frantic efforts to illicit a response from the lithe body… only a heartbeat that's all he asked. The two men still worked steadily.

"Yeah he will…"Diana whispered her voice sounding slightly choked, silence fell heavily between them.

The boneless body suddenly retched, convulsing harshly and the officer rolled Neal's head to the side just as he vomited what appeared to be gallons of red tinted water across the faded planks.

Pushing himself forward on numb legs, Peter knelt beside his friend, afraid to hope, but praying this was sign he was still with them. He clasped the young man's hand tightly, probably too tightly… had his consultant been conscious he would have protested the grip, but his fingers were still… folding loosely around the clutching hand, his lips silent. The retching had stopped leaving his body as lax as before. Peter watched desperately for some sign of awareness… of life, all he found was a faint pulse under his shaking fingers when he slid up to the thin wrist. That was enough…

"We have a heartbeat" Davis confirmed softly a moment later, his fingers at the young man's throat

"That's it Neal" Peter murmured. "Hang in there… you can do this…just keep fighting." he encouraged, the hand in his remained limp and cold as ice. He heard the officer say something about "still not breathing", but he clung to the fact that his friend was fighting, no matter how weakly. Then he saw it… the gaping hole in the thin, bloody undershirt, the matching tear in the center of that motionless chest. The tiny spark of hope he had maintained, drowned in a crushing wave of despair. His fingers involuntarily moved to brush the wound and he swallowed thickly. The lungs under his touch rose and deflated, filling and emptying with a sickening gurgle, as DeMarco forced air into them again and once again. A gunshot wound… Peter thought, right there… just below the sternum, he doesn't have a chance… there is no way it missed his heart.

"D*** it," Davis growled as if on cue "We lost his pulse again" For a long moment the older agent sat frozen, watching the younger man dutifully fold his hands over the wound and press down, again, again, again and again…he watched Neal's face but it was empty, showing no sign of the pain the agent should have been causing, his cheeks were white now rather than ashy blue as the officer and agent circulated oxygen through his system but his eyelids looked thin, almost translucent ...Peter swallowed, his eyes on the blood oozing slowly between Davis' fingers with each compression, the young officer's head obscured the pale face, up and down… still. The sharp crunch of bones snapping as Davis took over again jerked him from his daze.

"We're torturing him…"he thought "trying to force him to stay, but he's gone." he attempted to swallow the lump that closed his throat at the realization. He studied the slim blue fingers in his grasp… rubbing them as if he could make them warm and strong again but it was pointless, an exercise in futility… just like the compressions Davis was still doing. Closing his eyes Peter drew a shaky breath.

"Davis…" His voice cracked… he didn't want to say this but… he lay his hand on the young man's taut shoulder. "Davis stop, just stop, please… he's… he's gone…" He choked on the last word "just let him rest."

Too Late…