This was something that popped in my brain and I thought would be some drabble, then it kept growing into a full fanficton. I hope you like it.

English is not my mother language and I still have no Beta, so I appreciate if you help me correct and edit any mistake.

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA, which apparently don't give a... whatever, for the show to let fans (nor even writers and actors) if we will have a decent sixth season.

THE RIGHT THING

"Neal, you know that if you move I'll have to shoot you!"

Neal's eyes sparkled at those words and his heart leaped in his chest. For the first time, for the first time in weeks he was allowed to feel hope. He looked at the eyes of the FBI agent and though his voice trembled with excitement and fear Neal could read in them the iron determination that guided his life and his actions. Peter would do it, Peter would pull the trigger even though his heart would broke doing it because that was what he had to do, because it was the right thing, because it was his duty and for that Neal was eternally grateful. Even now Peter was still the beacon that lit the dark rocks and drove him, albeit barely afloat, to safe shores.

"Forgive me." Neal murmured quietly. He knew that Peter was too far away to hear him, but at the last moment, by the pained expression on the face of the one who had been his partner Neal thought that he had understood something, perhaps he'd been able to read his lips, perhaps by the force with which his whole had begged for forgiveness. No, Peter would never forgive him and Neal couldn't blame him. If the roles were reversed Neal wouldn't ever forgive Peter for putting him in such a situation. The young forger knew that at this moment, in this brief second Peter's whole world was upside down. He was forced to question everything he had believed, all his sense of morality, the lines of right and wrong he build his world with. But he was also forced to doubt Neal, their friendship, his trust, his loyalty.

"Shit, Caffrey, no!" Shouted Peter and the despair in his eyes was the last thing Neal saw before turning off and running.

If only Peter knew he had no choice, that once again he was a puppet of others pulling the strings, and what was worse, that those strings were interwoven in a web that caught all those who loved him. The presence of the FBI had never been part of the plan, that Agent Burke himself will lead the team had been a surprise to everyone, especially to Neal, but under the circumstances They were very clear: If the idea of surrending passed through his mind, Burke was dead; if the idea of escaping passed through his mind, Burke was dead; if the idea of doing anything but stealing the medallion passed through his mind then he and Burke and who knows who else were dead. The bright red dot on Peter`s chest gave no space to doubt. But what would they do if he was the one who was dead? Would they take any risk seeking revenge for the disobedience of a corpse, or at least someone who was no longer useful to them? Neal doubted it. "That's why we are the agents and you are the criminal informant" had told him Peter once and although the words had then hurt like daggers, they were a song in his memory today. Of course Peter would pull the trigger, his finger would not hesitate to catch whoever who was caught red-handed in the middle of a heist just weeks after him offering his freedom. But Peter wouldn't shoot to kill, since he would like to see him handcuffed and in prison, not inside a black bag. He could always count on that Peter would do the right thing.

But it was one thing to imagine it, even to expect it and quite another to feel it on his own flesh. The impact of the bullet was like a blow in the pit of the stomach that takes your breath away. It was not until he was face down on the floor, not even remembering how he got there that the pain spread through his body as if his entire shoulder was on fire. He wanted to howl in pain, but the muscles of his chest were so contracted that he could not bring more air into his lungs than the little enough to emit a low moan.

There should have been no more than ten or fifteen seconds, but for Neal it had seemed an eternity when Peter came by his side. The agent arrived with the gun still raised, operating on autopilot, doing only what his training dictated. He pushed Neal's arms sideways with the foot, looking for a weapon or other threat even knowing he wouldn't find any, but when Peter's eyes met those of Neal, his face contorted in pain and his mouth full of blood the FBI Agent abandoned him altogether and only Peter remained. The human being, the person who had shot the one he had believed to be his friend and was now lying on the floor with a growing blood stain on his jacket.

"Oh Neal, why! Why!" Exclaimed Peter, while holstering his weapon and bending to his knees next to the conman.

He turned Neal the more softly he was allowed by the circumstances, seeking an outlet for the bullet, but found none, only Neal's muffled moans at the pain the movement caused him.

"Why, Neal, why?" He asked this time, feeling a lump forming in his throat. "Suspect down, call an ambulance immediately!" He shouted through his intercom.

If only once, for a first time Neal had followed his instructions and had not tried to flee, leaving him no alternative but to shoot. Forced to he would have preferred to target the legs, but the marble balustrade stopped him, so he had to choose to shoot the next less lethal point, however it was always uncertain to shoot a moving target, and only God knew how much his hands were shaking. The bullet had actually entered his shoulder, despite all his aim had not failed him and the target was almost perfect. He firmly pressed against the back of the shoulder with the jacket he had just took off in an attempt to reduce the blood loss, but without an exit wound there was no way to know what angle the bullet had taken or if it had caused more damage on its path.

Neal opened the eyes he had held clenched in pain, not knowing if the thick wrinkle on the agent's forehead was because of despair or anger. "Forgive me" he meant, but no words came out of his mouth, choking painfully on the blood that filled it. 'Do not worry, everything is fine' that's what Peter knew he should have answered, but it wouldn't had been true, Peter felt he would never forgive him, either from being there on the heist or from running. However, even if he had wanted he wouldn't have been able to say anything. Seeing Neal coughing weakly, choking on his own blood getting weaker at any second, an icy fear completely paralyzed him and he could only press the jacket harder against the wound on his consultant which, impossibly pale, struggled to keep his eyes open to finally lose the battle against unconsciousness.

Peter was fixed on Neal's labored breathing when he felt a presence next to him and turned, to discover Jones standing beside him in silence, with his gun still on his hand, arms loose and lips tight. Of all the scenarios Jones would have imagined, he had never expected to find that this one was the suspect whom Peter had neutralized. Of all the hypotheses about what had happened with Neal after his sudden disappearance, he had never expected to find him only a few weeks later on their own case scene.

"Peter" Said Jones. And that was it.

When the ambulance arrived, Peter stood up to get out of the way and released pressure on the wound. Neal moaned softly and for a moment his eyes opened and locked with those of the agent.

"Thanks" Neal managed to say in little more than a sigh, before the paramedics lifted the gurney and got him into the ambulance.

Peter stood there, too confused and shocked by that one word to react, but in a second he was himself again and after a quick look at Jones, in which he quietly transferred the command, he walked toward the paramedics.

"He's my suspect, I must go with him" said Peter exhibiting his badge and the EMTs just nodded and let him sit in a corner of the ambulance.

The rest of the way happened as in dream or a nightmare, something that later he'd only remember between fogs. Peter could vaguely understand that the paramedics were struggling to stabilize Neal, his blood pressure was still falling, the pulse was dangerously fast and the saturation low. But as far as Peter was concerned, he could only concentrate on one thing. Neal's hand was hanging on one side of the gurney and for a short time, for a millisecond he had been tempted to take it on his own. However at the last minute he noticed a drop of blood hanging from the middle finger, holding at the tip for long seconds, defying gravity before falling to the floor and to be followed by another drop repeating the same stunt. As the drive went the only thing that Peter was able to concentrate were those drops of blood... drup… drup... drup... who were forming a small puddle not far from his shoe.

Peter had managed to enjoy the solitude and to be with his own thoughts for as long as it lasted, but now he saw familiar faces at the waiting room l. Jones approached to report the capture of another suspect, but at least two others had escaped from the scene. Diana had also came with Theo, since even though officially she was still on maternal leave she had always been up to date with the Caffrey case and had helped as much as she could. It was she who had fought like a lioness when the Marshalls had arrived and she had managed to keep them away from Peter, earning him at least a couple of hours of respite before he had to answer their questions. He suspected that it had also been her who had warned Elizabeth, since even though he hadn't talked with his wife yet he had received a message from her, telling him that she was already on the way to NY. So when the agents approached, if not to speak at least to offer silent company, it didn't bother Peter at all.

"Agent Burke" A gray-haired doctor had entered the room and scanned it with his eyes, looking for someone to respond by the name and recognizing him when Peter looked up. "I've came to speak about the man you brought in custody." He casted a quick glance at Clinton and Diana, not sure if he should continue speaking.

"It's all right." said Peter "They are members of my division."

The doctor led them to a corner of the waiting room and the four sat in small armchairs, around a coffee table covered with old magazines.

"Let me introduce myself, I'm Doctor Koppfer, the surgeon in charge of the person you brought" He introduced " it corresponds to a white male, approximately... "

"All right, can you save the generalities, just tell us how he is. " Peter interrupted him, to which he later added in a softer tone "Please."

"Mr. Caffrey was brought in a pretty poor condition, but he's now more stable" Dr. Koppfer smiled softly. This case was already quite strange itself and yet it seemed to be more pieces in the puzzle that he had imagined. "He presents a wound caused by firearm in the back of the right shoulder; the bullet hit the shoulder blade and broke it into several parts. He lost a lot of blood, it's a pretty painful injury and it will need at least one more surgery to reconstruct damaged to the bone and muscles, but it should heal fine if he follows a good therapy.

"Neal… Caffrey, he was coughing blood." That idea had not stopped tormenting Peter for hours.

"He has a deep cut into the lip, produced perhaps at falling" said the doctor " and the cough may be explained by having pneumonia, but no harm in the chest was caused by the bullet."

"Pneumonia?" Asked Diana. "Caffrey is young and has always been pretty healthy."

"It is quite understandable, given the circumstances. He has two fractured ribs that already began to heal on their own; it reduces the amplitude of breathing and predisposes to infections. If we add malnutrition and stress, even the strongest of men can fall ill." Explained the doctor. "I guess you plan to transfer him to other facilities, but my recommendation is for him to stay here for at least another 24 hours before being moved anywhere.

Dr. Koppfer watched how his audience was spellbound and the three remained deep in their thoughts, so he got up to leave.

"Sorry Doctor. What makes you assume that Caffrey was under stress?" Asked Jones before the doctor had a chance of getting away.

The doctor stared at the three FBI agents.

"Forgive me to ask you but, apart from being on your custody, what is your relationship with the patient?"

"Neal Caffrey is... was, my consultant. Until recently he worked as an informant for the FBI. I'm his handler." Agent Burke answered gravely.

Okay, this had became more and more interesting, in a rather sad way. For all Dr. Koppfer knew it was the Agent Burke who had captured the man who only moments before he had to operate, shooting him himself, but apparently the agents had less information about their prisoner than he had initially thought. The doctor sat down again and made a little pause, preparing his words before continuing.

"Mr. Caffrey wrists are raw and torn. I'm no expert in this type of injury, but I can assume that they can only have been caused by having been tied for a long time" The doctor watched how Burke's jaw was clenched so hard that it showed the muscles of his neck. "The broken ribs are not the only sign of been abused, there are bruises and marks of beatings all over his body, some newer and some older."

Diana hugged Theo tighter on his lap, feeling the need to protect him and also unconsciously seeking comfort in the touch of his warm little body. Peter was so tense that it seemed as he was going to jump out of his seat at any moment.

"You also talked about malnutrition." Asked Jones.

"Glucose levels were very low when the patient arrived and I'm sure that was a contributing factor for his decompensation. Mr. Caffrey has a lower than recommended weight for his height, but also the liver enzymes of the tests indicate that he had been using his own reserves for at least a few weeks.

Peter had had enough, he stood up and after thanking the doctor with a nod he went to the bathrooms to cry or vomit or both, having reached the limit of his self-control.

The doctor Koppfer looked him leave without saying anything and then he spoke to the other two agents, both of which remained with their eyes sadly nailed to the floor.

"Mr. Caffrey is still under the effects of anesthesia and will remain sedated for pain control at least until tomorrow, but as soon as he's moved to a room I'll let you know so you can visit him." By then the doctor had no doubt that the relationship between the FBI agents and the criminal they had just caught was unique.

Elizabeth found her husband standing at the foot of Neal's bed.

"Honey" She walked up to him and passed her right arm behind his waist to hug him, while her left hand took Peter's arm to caress it with her fingers. His only reaction to this was to rest some of his weight against her to recognize her presence. Elizabeth didn't expect something different, she had seen on his eyes that he had been crying and she knew that Peter would hate to break down if he started talking, even only in front of her.

Elizabeth laid her eyes on Neal and her own stomach tightened into a knot. Thick bandages were wrapped around his wrists and even under the blanket she could see handcuffs that held his ankle to the bed. Another bandage was wrapped around his right shoulder with a sling on that arm and an IV was hooked to his left. Behind the oxygen mask hide deep-set eyes and facial bones protruding with more angular shapes than she could ever remember.

"Oh God, he's so thin! " The call from Diana had been brief and she had barely came off the plane, so Elizabeth didn't yet fully understood what had happened, but it was Neal, he had fled and betrayed her husband but she still hated to see him in a hospital bed, injured and broken.

"It's amazing what can happen to a person in twenty-six days, isn't it?" Peter said hoarsely. Of course he had been keeping track!

"Peter, Hon. What happened?"

"I shot him; I shot him when I should have rescued him".

And then Peter buried his face in her dark hair and let it get soaked on his tears while Elizabeth strong arms tightened around his body.

Awakening was a slow and gradual process. At times he heard voices and movement of people around him then a blink later and he noticed that now the room was dark and there was only a silent shadow at his feet. Another blink and now light had returned, but it was softer and warmer. Neal heard the beep of a machine nearby and very few voices in the distance, but there seemed to be nothing more. He let himself just to be in that quietness for long minutes, just enjoying being warm, comfortable and pain-free, a nice change from the times he had woken on the past weeks. He felt a movement beside him and when he moved his head he saw Peter sitting on a chair next to a window, looking out through it. Neal just stared at him, his blue eyes barely peeking through slits as still deciding whether it was worth waking up or not, but the memory of what had happened in the mansion returned to his mind and woke him completely.

"Peter… thank you." Even he was surprised at how rough and weak his voice sounded yet he needed Peter to know, he needed him to know the he freed him, willingly o not, from a nightmare that had lasted too long.

"What? Neal! " Peter was so deep in thought that was a bit startled to hear a voice that he didn't initially recognize. He rose from his chair and went next to Neal's bed, a bit worried about what his reaction to see him would be after having fired at him..

"Thanks, Peter " Neal repeated, trying to peer into the eyes of Peter if he had been forgiven or not by what he had forced him to do.

"Neal... I shot you. "Peter wondered if the young man remembered the day before.

"I know" Neal smiled weakly, but his eyes shone "Thanks."

"You ..." Peter had wanted to say something, afraid Neal's temperature had spiked again and it was the fever speaking. But the ex-con asked him to keep quiet slightly raising his left hand before he continued.

"If you had not done it... we... would both have been killed." Despite the oxygen tube under his nose, Neal still had trouble keeping his breath and hissed between words.

"No, Neal. I should have realized something was wrong. God, Neal, just look at you! You're sick, hurt, emaciated, I should have known you needed help."

"You were busy... not shooting me... in the heart " Neal joked, but then he turned serious. "You'd be dead if you had tried, Peter. And then what? You think... you think that if I had succeeded in stealing... that locket, they'd had thanked me... and let me go home? No one would look for the body of an escaped criminal.

Peter looked down, embarrassed. For twenty-six days he had assumed that Neal had escaped, even after Mozzie`s complaining. After he had been made the little man go to the FBI for questioning he had lost all track of him and not even El or Diana could contact him to tell him that Neal was in the hospital and that he had been right all along.

"What they did to you, Neal? Why? " Peter asked, sitting at the side of the bed.

"I... there are rumors... that I have opened that safe before... and since no one else ever has… they wanted me to give it a try" Neal smiled at the fact that, against his will, the corner of Peter's mouth slightly raised. "Allegedly."

"At least it cost them to convince you " Peter said indicating the bandage wrapped around Neal's broken ribs.

"Nah, they just beat me... the times I tried to escape."

"Which apparently was quite often?"

"Force of habit" said Neal, but Peter failed to find it funny when Neal burst into a fit of coughing that left him exhausted and breathless.

"And for that they needed to starve your? " Peter almost yelled, letting go some of his anger and frustration.

"I cannot complain... that they didn't give me enough food, Peter, but... to be locked and tied… alone into a dank and cold basement... it didn't do much to stimulate my appetite." Neal remained quiet for a long moment and Peter allowed him to take his time. Many of the things the kid had went through lately would not only be reflected in his body. "When I started to feel sick... fever and cough didn't help much either... not like they worried too much. From the first time they made it clear that I was useful to them, but not indispensable."

"Well, you better get that appetite back, because El is already preparing the cupboards to fatten you like a goose.

Neal let his head rest on the pillow, reveling in the idea. Hunger still failed him, but he liked the thought of feeling the warmth of one of those old dinners at the Burke's. Peter's heart sank, thinking that Neal was avoiding to answer him.

"Neal, please forgive me. I should had never simply assumed that you had escaped." Peter was not a person fond of physical contact, but on this occasion he could not suppress the need of holding Neal's free hand to emphasize how much he meant it.

"Only if you forgive me for having forced you to... this. " Neal looked to his right shoulder. "I can't imagine how hard it must have been."

"It's a deal." Said Peter, knowing that that second in which he pulled the trigger and saw Neal fall would chase him on his nightmares for a long time, but trying not to show it.

"It's a deal." Neal repeated, failing to hide how tired he felt.

Peter got up to let him rest, but before leaving he put a hand on Neal's good shoulder and gave it a little squeeze.

"They were wrong, Neal. You do are indispensable. "