White Collar doesn't belong to me, but that can't stop me from wishing it did.

Peter couldn't get the sounds out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. He kept hearing his voice over and over again, screaming out, screaming for him, but he's just as unable to help as he was when the world split and what was left of the building roared upwards in a fireball towards the sky.

His knee was bouncing, constantly bouncing and his heel kept hitting the floor and Peter didn't know how to make it stop, how to make any of it stop. Because the light was still there when he closed his eyes, the outline of the flames decorated the back of his eyelids and painted a picture he didn't want to see any more.

Peter was frozen; not his wife's head on his shoulder or his team's wide eyes staring at him with shock and concern or his bouncing knee could get him to move, to get his mind off the track it has been hurling down for the past couple hours. That was ironic, because though his mind was frozen, his body was still warm from the blast of fire that tingled his nerves from his fingers to his toes like he was a marshmallow thrust in a campfire on a warm summer's night.

While his mind was stuck and couldn't move, his eyes darted to the door every time he heard it swing open, and he waited with baited breath for the doctor to come back, to lower his mask and call out the name he so desperately wanted to hear for so long.

He needed to know that Neal Caffrey was ok.