She found herself where she had often the past two days, sitting with the toddler in the pediatric ward. As grateful as Elizabeth was that her husband was ok… that he would be released today, since her conversation with Jones yesterday morning she found it hard to look Peter in the eye.

The young agent was right, Peter would have done exactly the same thing for any member of his team, without hesitation, that was just who he was. She wasn't sure that all of them would have returned the favor… Jones, Diana she knew would have and… Neal, she knew in her heart, he would not have hesitated. She also knew that if it had been any of the agents she would not have assumed they were to blame. When she looked into Peter's eyes in the ER and heard his broken voice say "I tried to save him." her first thought would not have been that he had been betrayed.

Sitting here with a napping child in her lap she tried to explain… to justify her reaction. Neal was a con artist her mind supplied, he did what was best for him no matter the consequences to anyone else. His actions had hurt Peter before… Except that wasn't really true and no matter how she argued it, she couldn't quite make it stick. There may have been times her husband and even herself had almost been hurt… had been threatened and endangered but, Neal always came through to make it right, no matter the cost to himself. Since she was being honest , the truth was, she admitted, the young man had lost much more and gained much less than they had from the relationship.

She brushed the baby's hair back from his sweet little face, the picture of peaceful innocence. In her mind the image of the young man downstairs imposed itself over the child's, the left side mangled and bruised, the rest deathly pale and far too peaceful… lifeless really. That thought made her slightly sick… she wasn't an uncaring person. She cared about Neal… she did. She just cared more about Peter. That wasn't wrong. He is her husband after all and anything that put him at risk… "But," her heart whispered accusingly "He's ok now. Why haven't you been back to see Neal since yesterday morning? Why didn't you check on him when he came out of surgery? What if he had died that night?

She didn't have answers … but there was something she could do to prove she cared. She could take care of Will for him. Neal desperately wanted him to stay out of a foster home… she could make sure he did… Peter could help her make sure of that.

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Still dark, he thought as he entered the room, Peter wondered briefly if they ever turned on the lights in the small room, it didn't seem like it unless the doctor was there. The still hand felt warm now when he lifted it from the white sheet, but the fingers still curled lifelessly around his grasp, not returning his gentle squeeze. Peter sighed, Neal seemed as unaware of his presence as he had on the dock. The systolic blood pressure reading and oxygen levels on the monitor both still hung in the low eighties. His temperature read 101.3… a fever probably indicated an infection, the agent hoped fervently it wasn't in Neal's lungs, they couldn't take any more damage. He glanced at the machine still forcing the young man's chest to rise and fall steadily. "At least his heart is holding up" Peter reminded himself, watching the relatively even rhythm play out forty five to fifty beats a minute across the glowing screen.

"I hope you didn't think I forgot about you," he told his friend. "the doctors in this place don't appreciate it when their patients pull disappearing acts, they practically tied me to the bed after the last time I visited … you'll have them all in strait jackets, I'm sure, before you get out of here." he frowned, pushing at the nagging voice in his mind that whispered "if he gets out of here." "They let me go today… so I'll be here now." He drew a slow calming breath running his thumb back and forth over the limp hand in his. "Dr. Wilson says you are a real fighter…he doesn't know you very well." He smiled slightly at that, thinking of the young man's non aggressive nature. " you are definitely not a fighter, but you are stubborn as h*** and a lot tougher than you look, otherwise…"his thumb absently rubbed the back of the ghostly pale hand again "He says if you make it through the first three days you have about a fifty-fifty shot… you have two days down." The older man swallowed hard "You're almost there."

Sitting in the bedside chair he kept his grasp on the wilting hand but turned his gaze to the dark window. Eight o'clock, past dinner time. He could have gone home. Could have ate with his wife and slept in his own bed tonight, but here he was back in this quiet room having a one sided conversation and hoping desperately his friend knew he wasn't alone.

The door creaked open and a young red head slipped into the room.

"Oh… hello." she smiled, flipping on the small light above the bed "I didn't realize he had a visitor.

"Are you going to kick me out?"

"No… hopefully the contact with someone familiar will encourage him."

"How is he? I noticed the fever…?"

"Just a bit of a bacterial infection… completely expected given his injuries, serious burns in particular are prone to infection. Dr. Wilson is hitting him with some powerful antibiotics. It shouldn't be a major issue." He knew it was an concern... any infection was a major issue as weak as Neal was, but he understood what she really meant… it was no more of an problem than nearly a dozen other issues that currently threatened his life.

"So he's doing better?" that was overly optimistic but he needed something.

"Let's say… holding his own." She smiled at Peter kindly "that's really all anyone can ask of him right now." Her exam was gentle and efficient, her small hands checking tubes and bandages with practiced skill as she talked. "Honestly it is more than we expected when he first came in."

"I know." He swallowed roughly as she quickly lifted each eye lid and flashed a small light into the blue eyes underneath.

"You were here the other night, weren't you?" she was adjusting one of the IV pumps now.

"I was… how did you know?"

"I work night shift. That first night we were checking on him every fifteen minutes." The thermometer brushed across his forehead quickly, before she positioned her stethoscope in her ears.

"I never…" he trailed off as she listened intently to his friend's chest… moving the device deftly over the pale skin.

"You were out and you looked exhausted." She grinned as she carefully shifted the young man's position in the bed, lifting his left shoulder and hip in one smooth movement "I tried not to wake you."

"Are you sure it's ok to move him like that? His back…" She quickly placed the stethoscope against his back, a few swift movements as she listened, before she looked up again.

"The surgeon stabilized his spine when he first came in." she assured "and laying in the same position to long can cause other problems." The agent nodded as she continued moving the young man gently.

"Thanks" he returned her smile "for not kicking me out the other night."

"You were sitting here in the middle of the night, holding his hand, still wearing a bracelet yourself. I figured you were close." She slid pillows under his side, one at the shoulder the other at the hips, allowing him to settle partially on his right side, before her hands smoothly turned his head, resting his right cheek on the pillow and lifting his chin, careful not to obstruct the ventilator.

"Depends on the day." Peter forced a tight chuckle, to cover the vaguely sick feeling of watching her position his friend like a broken doll. Neal didn't react to the movement at all, simply folding into the new posture loosely.

"Yeah well… you being here was probably what got him through that first night." She lay his left arm across his abdomen gently, arranging his hand to appear comfortable.

"You think so?" He looked at her doubtfully "He doesn't seem to know I'm here." She pulled the blanket back and shifted his legs, bending the pliable knees slightly, propping them with another pillow.

"All I know is, something kept him hanging on that night, when he didn't really have a chance." She paused clearly unsure how much to say. Seeming to decide, she continued "He was slipping away and we all knew it… then suddenly he started to stabilize. The only thing that changed was you." She moved the drainage tube in his chest to make sure it was clear and drew the thin cover back over his damaged body. With one last kind smile at Peter she left them alone.

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"There you are." She smiled affectionately at her husband "I thought you would come straight here when they released you." He looked up at her quietly "they are releasing Will in the morning hon… what is going to happen to him?"

"I don't know." His shoulders lifted in a small helpless shrug "Child services probably."

"Peter you are telling me you would let that little boy go to a foster home…" she resisted the urge to shake him in her frustration. "Honey…" her voice took on a pleading note "a little boy that very well might be Neal's-." Because he really could be, the DNA test said he was she thought even as Peter cut her off.

"There is no physical way he can be Neal's." he snapped though his voice remained soft.

"I was going to say Neal's nephew." She sighed, his face was instantly apologetic.

"I'm sorry hon, I didn't mean to…"

"I know. You want to be doing something… and there is nothing you can do." He nodded at her words. "How is he?"

"He has a fever… low grade, but it probably means an infection." He managed a weak smile

"He's not doing well then?"

"He's doing as well as possible considering he has a list of life threatening injuries as long as my arm." He met her eyes sadly.

"That bad?" it was little more than a whisper. Now she was sure she didn't want to know.

"Worse." He shook his head "it was just shy of miraculous they got his heart started again."

"His heart stopped?!" she choked

"It took almost ten minutes to revive him…" the pain in Peter's voice tore through her reeling thoughts. Her sweet husband had witnessed that awful procedure… performed on his friend.

"Oh honey… I'm so sorry."

"He's still fighting though…" he chuckled without humor "that's what they all keep telling me." She wrapped her arms around him lovingly, comfortingly.

"That's good, right?

"Neal is terrible in a fight, Elle… he's lost every single one I've ever known him to be in."

"He'll win this one." He has to… she thought, and not just for your sake.

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because you think it's impossible… he loves to pull off the impossible." That made her husband smile. "I assume you aren't coming home tonight?" Of course he wasn't, but could she really blame him…? Would it even be a question if it was one of his agents in that bed?

"I thought maybe he could use some back up… for a few days."

"Couldn't hurt." She brushed Peter's cheek tenderly and looked at the man in the bed. A single step brought her to his side and she gently squeezed his hand. Leaning down she whispered "Neal sweetie, don't give up, you need to make it back to us. We need you to come back." She didn't add that it would destroy her husband if he didn't, tried to push it away, this wasn't about Peter, but the thought lingered in her mind. Straightening, she met Peter's eye. "I want to bring Will to our house until Neal is better. Is that possible?"

"I don't know. Hon are you sure that's a good idea? He can be quite a handful"

"He has nowhere else to go. He's two years old, his mom is dead, he witnessed his friend being shot and was thrown in the Hudson… he cannot go to another strange place with more strange people. He's been through enough" tears glistened in her eyes "he's a baby… a sweet innocent baby… and you know how badly Neal wanted… wants to keep him out of the system."

"Ok Elle… I'll see what I can do in the morning."

"Thank you," absently brushing a lock of hair from the younger man's face she smiled lovingly at her husband "honey I know why you want to stay with him… but try to get some rest yourself, ok?" It wasn't uncaring to ask him to take care of himself too… It wasn't.

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She had the distinct impression someone was following her. When she turned around here was no one, not even a shadow. There were no footsteps behind her, she couldn't spot any suspicious cars when she drove. Nothing she could put her finger on but Diana could feel the presence watching her everywhere she went. Whoever was out there was good… really good. That thought made her shiver.

She hoped it wasn't Dennison's people… after all they had tortured Caffrey for almost three days, who knew what he might have told them. He could have told them the names and descriptions of everyone in the office… and if he did, people would start disappearing one by one, until the memory card was returned. They would turn up of course, she thought with a sigh, broken and dead in the river. Was she first on the list of targets?

There was another possibility… She thought of her strange late night visit. Donavon claimed to be Michael Scott's superior, Michael Scott who was really Kevin Grant, who according to her contact was CIA, which made Donavan… the thought of the CIA watching her was not much more comforting than Dennison's men.

Whoever it was, Diana's steps were a bit quicker than usual as she strode into the Federal Building and nodded to Jones when she met him in the lobby.

"Everything ok?" he asked "you look nervous." She hesitated uncertain

"Do you get the feeling someone is following you?"

"No… is someone following you? Dennison?" worry edged his voice.

"I don't know… it's just a feeling."

"If Dennison's people are following you …" he didn't finish the thought

"I know…" she met his eyes "there is another possibility…I had a disturbing visitor the other night."

"What kind of visitor?"

"He said he was Michael Scott's superior."

"Did he threaten you?"

"Not directly… but he was…" she shrugged unsure how to explain the man. "He seemed very… protective."

"Why didn't you tell someone? That's something Peter would want to know."

"He has enough to worry about." She gave him a grim smile.

"I guarantee he doesn't want to lose anyone else." Her head came up at that

"Did we lose…?"

"Not yet… not that I've heard, but…"

"Yeah." She sighed

"But seriously, someone is following you… we should tell him."

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Returning from his discussion with the pediatric ward, fresh coffee in hand, Peter tensed at the open door and the light spilling from his friend's room. Something was wrong. Moving forward on silent feet he approached the door. If there was an emergency they would send him away if he drew attention to himself.

*"Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night."

He smiled. The voice was soft and familiar, and horribly sad. The little guy had finally came out of hiding to check on Neal. He stood quietly in the door way, watching Haversham clutch the young man's hand almost convulsively, not wanting to interrupt the moment.

"Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

A small sound brought the bespeckled head up and around to meet his eyes.

"Who was it, Peter?" the use of his proper name told him more about how deeply affected the small man was than the tears he pushed his glasses aside to brush away. "Who did this?"

"We think James Dennison gave the order." And at the moment he didn't care what Mozzie did with that information. He would not lose a moment's sleep if Dennison turned up in the river.

"But you haven't picked him up?"

"I need evidence." He sighed "and he's keeping a pretty low profile. I'm not even sure he's still in the city."

"I could find out where he is." The quiet voice turned hard.

"I would appreciate that." Peter sighed and moved into the room to take a seat near the bed. "I have another job for you too… if you are interested."

"Does it have something to do with…" he gestured helplessly to their friend.

"It does. I would be grateful for any information you can find on Kevin Grant."

"And I would grateful if you kept me apprised of Neal's… situation."

"I assume you read his chart."

"Of course… that horrifying litany of torture is forever etched in here." He tapped his temple sadly.

"He'll get through this." The agent tried to sound assured "He's tougher than most people know."

"He better." The small man turned away but Peter still heard the words he tossed quietly over his shoulder. "Or I can't guarantee Dennison's condition when you find him."

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* part of the poem "Do Not Go Gently Into That Good Night" by Dylan Thomas