Hopefully the coffee would help her stay awake. Three days of waking up three or four times a night was wearing on her and Elizabeth was considering the possibility that she was not cut out to be a mother…. At least not to a seriously traumatized toddler.

It was the same every time. Will woke up screaming for his mommy… when Elizabeth darted into the room to wake him, he always asked for mommy first… she quietly shushed him, her heart breaking each time she had to tell him she was not the woman he so desperately pleaded for. The next name on his lips hurt her heart almost as much. She always scooped him up then, reminding him she was Elizabeth and she was taking care of him until Neal was better. His tiny form snuggled into her after that but he sobbed quietly for several minutes, clinging to her like a life line, asking when Neal would be better, when his mommy was coming back and worse of all, if the bad men were going to take him away again. By the time the little boy finally drifted off she lay him gently back in the guest bed, pulled the warm blanket around him and stumbled back to her bed completely wrung out… only to repeat the process in an hour or two.

She glanced at the little boy quietly scribbling all over a large paper on her coffee table. She was enjoying the peace while it lasted because he would not stay still for long. His picture surprised her … she wasn't sure why she had expected more skill from a child that was in anyway associated with Neal… but for whatever reason she had. She looked at the picture again, two large circles perched on top of thin vertical ovals surrounded by short wavy lines… he was currently adding dots inside the circles… eyes?

"What are you drawing Will, sweetheart?"

"Dat's my mommy…" he pointed to one of the figures "and dat's Eal…"

"I see…" she smiled gently.

"Dey both leffed me…" huge blue eyes looked up at her "Wizbet? Do you think dey're togeder?" the question was so innocent… so sad…

"NO!" the child flinched and Elizabeth sighed. She hadn't meant to snap but… she swallowed hard "No Will they are not together. Neal didn't leave, not really, he'll be back." She silently added I hope. She smiled reassuringly at the little guy and he turned back to his paper.

The news from the hospital hadn't been particularly encouraging. Peter updated her when he came home to shower and change each day. The young man's temperature rose and fell as his fragile body and the antibiotics fought the infection, first in his abdomen and now in his ankle. Even worse he remained unresponsive, though her husband said that might be the sedatives… Peter didn't seem to really believe that. It was obvious that her husband was losing hope that their friend would ever wake up.

Pulling herself to the present she looked at and the little guy's drawing again and abruptly suppressed a gag. Will was scribbling all over both figures with a dark red crayon. He looked up at her with horribly knowing eyes.

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

Peter wanted to go after Dennison personally… but a week of medical leave was required by the Bureau after a hospitalization, so he had to leave the pursuit up to his team. They had only managed to hold onto the case because of Dennison's industrial espionage and insider trading, the argument could be made that the violence of this case placed it outside white collar's realm of experience. He couldn't say he disagreed but he wasn't letting this one go. He might not be able to work it himself for a few days but he had made sure it was in the hands of people who cared.

He ran his hand though his hair. Truthfully he was worried… about all of his people. Diana's early morning visitor six days ago had disturbed him. She assured him the man had not seemed intentionally threatening but… now someone might be following her…

To protect his people, he needed to know everything he could find on Kevin Grant, who knowingly or not was at the center of this mess. What he'd found in five days of research, he conceded ruefully, wasn't much, no pictures anywhere…and all of it was outdated. What he did find, however, was telling. Kevin Grant was the only child of Naomi and Jeffrey Grant of Dover, Delaware, both deceased. Born September 2, 1982, he graduated, valedictorian, at 16 years old, completed a duel Bachelors in computer programing and criminal justice at Penn State before he was 20. He participated in the ROTC program while in college. He left the Air Force six years later as a major… there was no record of him since. The man was obviously brilliant and driven to succeed. He wondered briefly what his parents would have thought of his career choice.

Laying his computer aside he stood up and stretched. He needed a break, he was spending entirely too much time sitting in that chair. Dr. Wilson told him so the last time he checked on Neal.

"You can't force him to get better by refusing to leave, he either will or he won't" the older man said with a kind smile and a soft shrug.

"I don't want him to be alone."

"We are passed the seventy two hour mark… that improves his chances dramatically. The fever is low now and I expect it break within the next twenty four hours, go home and rest… I understand you were just released a few days ago yourself." Peter had nodded, promising to go home tonight, but he hadn't specified what time and it was only nine thirty. He wouldn't rest much at home either, between worry about this mess and the traumatized toddler in his guest room, sleep would be just as elusive there as it was here.

"I would feel a lot better about going home if you would just… give me something." He told his unresponsive friend. He lifted the limp hand for what felt like the thousandth time "open your eyes, squeeze my hand…anything…The doctor said you were responding after surgery… and the nurse said they reduced the sedation yesterday…" Nothing… he sighed. "I need some coffee, Neal, but I'll be back."

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

"Suit?" standing at the coffee shop counter the familiar voice startled him.

"Mozzie?" he spotted the small man behind a large book, seated casually at a table "I assume you have something."

"You first." The man shot him a withering look "You promised to keep me updated."

"And I will."

"I haven't heard from you in more than three days."

"Because nothing has changed," he sighed "He's still hanging on…"

"The infection around his stomach?"

"Clearing up… but now his ankle is… bad. His fever never broke between infections."

"I told him to give you the card and forget about the whole mess."

"He told me… when he gave me the thing. For the record he listened."

"He did?" the agent nodded.

"Do you have anything on Dennison… or Grant?"

"Dennison has left the country… left everything and vanished. I will track him down, if I can. Do you want to know when I find him?"

"I do." The little man nodded grimly.

"Grant though… he's tough… haven't found much about him… other than the public records I'm sure even your inept efforts have turned up."

"I'll take anything you have." He watched Haversham slide him a painfully thin file casually. Most of it was what he already found except… He held up the picture of a boy maybe 16 or 17 years old. The skinny dark haired kid was barely in the frame behind three girls clearly posing for the shot, his eyes might have been blue. "This is from?"

"His senior class' online year book… it's the only shot of him. Suit, the man has been quite thoroughly erased."

"But you'll keep looking?'

"For Neal? Did you really just ask me that?"

Peter chuckled as his order was called. "Thanks"

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

He stood over his friend, who knelt beside a still body on the ground, Peter didn't look up, his expression hidden. Two unfamiliar men bent over the man, obviously trying to save him. Neal frowned… the image seemed surreal, fuzzy at the edges somehow. It was an odd sensation. The strange scene became even more peculiar for Neal when one of the men pulled back a bit to reveal his own battered face. For a moment he stood there frozen trying to understand. "I'm dead…" the realization was like cold water in the face. It seemed to take his breath away… a part of his mind smirked at that. "How can it take my breath…I'm dead." The strange man bent over his body again… breathing for him… "They're trying to save me" he thought and the thought was weirdly comforting.

The urge to run away was overwhelming but something held him in place. He watched helplessly as the man he considered his best friend grasped the arm of one of the figures trying to revive him.

"Stop." Peter told the man, his voice even… strange. "Just stop" Horror flooded his mind Peter wanted them to let him die. He turned his back on the scene as everything faded…

He started awake fighting the sensation of falling. His body ached distantly but his mind was grateful for the dim lights and silence of the room, though he couldn't place why. Blue eyes darted around the room thoughtfully, hospital. The memory of the dream swept through his mind but he pushed it aside… it was just a dream, though he really wouldn't be that surprised if Peter did want him dead…he sighed, that wasn't right, but everything felt twisted in his mind… he allowed his eyes to wander around the room… the empty room…

There is was something depressing about waking up in a hospital room alone… even his confused mind registered that. He tried to turn on his side toward the wall… but he couldn't…something tugged at his side… and something twisted in his throat, his arms stung and pulled, his body had no strength, but that wasn't what sent a chill crawling up the back of his neck… no! His head turned… his shoulders flopped ineffectually against the bed, his arms moved weakly, but his legs remained still… unresponsive to the increasingly panicked commands of his mind. Tears filled his eyes, as he tried to contain his fear… He choked on the thing in his throat, increasing his fear to blind terror. "Breathe Neal" he told himself… "You have to calm down and breathe."

The door opened with a soft click, something about the dim lights and silence followed by that small sound increased his panic! Vague memories flared though his jumbled mind, a flickering flame eating at his flesh, a huge mountain of muscle looming over him, bright lights and roaring sound followed by dark and silence and that click. A figure approached his bed and Neal brought his arms up, fighting against the onslaught that he knew was coming. He couldn't bear any more… he couldn't take another round without breaking… and he couldn't break! He had to protect his friends.

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

Coffee in one hand and a sandwich in the other… Peter made his way back into the Intensive Care Unit. He wasn't surprised to find the nurse's station empty, critical care nurses definitely earned their pay, he had discovered the last few days. He began to worry as he approached Neal's room, when a young nurse suddenly darted out of the door, a look of concern on her face. Reaching the station she paged Dr. Wilson, sending chills up Peter's spine.

"Excuse me…" he reached for her arm, pulling back at the last moment. "Is Neal ok?" she gave him one look and continued rushing back to the room. Then she looked again and hesitated.

'You're his friend that's been here, right?" the agent nodded "Maybe you can get through to him then…" When she hurried away Peter was on her heals.

"He's awake?" he couldn't quite believe the words.

The nurse didn't answer, but he didn't need her to. The room was chaos. Two nurses held the young man firmly in the bed by his shoulders, trying not to touch his lower arms as he attempted to lash out, alarms blared from several devices, a third nurse was attempting to inject something into one of the IV lines, but flailing arms made her efforts futile. The women restraining him spoke in soothing tones but their words seemed to flow over the panicked man without penetrating the fog. Wide blue eyes weren't really seeing them, Peter realized. Three steps brought the agent to his friend's side.

"Neal?" Can you hear me? Stop this." His tone was strong… commanding. "You need to calm down… you are hurting yourself." Blue eyes rolled toward his voice… he swallowed hard at the tears swimming there , but he felt his lips pull up in a smile at the dry cheeks, even in a half conscious panic Neal wouldn't let himself cry in front of strangers. "Only you would be worried about looking weak right now" he told his friend quietly… Neal blinked rapidly to contain the tears. Recognition slowly reached his eyes "that's it…" Peter's smile broadened "you with us?"

A tiny nod, his arms relaxing at his sides…

"That's better… it's ok…" one of the nurses soothed. Blue eyes darted to her face and fear edged back into his expression, body tensing under their hands.

"It's ok… she's a nurse." Peter touched the younger man's hair "No one is going to hurt you…do you understand?" another small nod "She's trying to help you, but you have to stop trying to hit her." in an instant horror and shame fill the eyes looking up at him, replacing the blinding fear, Neal was not the kind of man to ever hit a lady and now he looked sick at the thought that he had done just that. "It's ok, I don't think she's going to hold a grudge."

"I'm sorry" his lips formed the words silently around the tube, his eyes pleading for forgiveness. The woman accommodated him with a sympathetic smile.

"It's ok, honey" she said, adjusting the drainage tube in his side, assuring it had not pulled out of position. "You are far from the first patient to panic when they wake up after a serious trauma." She tucked the blanket around his chest very gently but Peter still noticed a slight flinch at the touch. "You are the first to apologize so soon, though" she smiled… "Rest now. Dr. Wilson will be here in a few minutes, Ok?" Neal nodded, eyes already slipping. With one last pat she turned to go.

"Is he ok?" Peter asked

"Dr. Wilson will be able to tell you more but… He seems fairly alert, all things considered"

Settling into the bedside chair, he regarded the younger man wearily it took a moment to realize sleepy blue eyes were studying him as well, a strange sadness in them.

"Everything alright, Neal?" Of course it wasn't, the kid had to be in pain, and the tube down his throat was probably frightening and distinctly unpleasant but that looked seemed to be something else… he watched his friend slowly, carefully form silent words around the ventilator.

"Do… you…want…me… to… die?"

Peter shook his head in shock "Of course not, why would you ask that?!"

Neal smiled drowsily "Bad… dream…" his lips said soundlessly as his eyes closed involuntarily.