This is the end of Never Let Go. I enjoyed writing it and have more than enjoyed everyone's kind words. Real life calls; the History Museum I work at is installing an exhibit for an opening Friday, so my writing for fun is on hold until after then. I do have another story in progress, so I plan to be back soon. And for all of you whose writings I am following...keep them coming. They make my day!

(even though it was finished, I spent like two hours redoing the ending. I don't know if it was because it needed it or if I just Didn't Want To Let Go of this story!)

As always, I own nothing but the mistakes for which I accept all responsibility.

Chapter Twelve

"Speaking of being shot not being the low point of your day," Peter began, almost hating to bring up the subject of that horrible day, but more was needed before incident could be lain to rest. They have been making progress, but there was still things Peter needed to say; things Neal needed to hear. "Why did you step between us?"

"I was afraid he was going to shoot you, obviously." He had helped Neal upstairs to his apartment. It had taken some doing, and Neal, exhausted from the effort, collapsed down onto the sofa.

"I was wearing a vest, Neal; you were not."

"Yeah, but the way he was waving that gun around, he could have shot you in the head," Neal answered, "A vest wouldn't help with that."

"Would've helped with that, though," Peter said nodding towards the sling on Neal's shoulder. "I would have fared better with that bullet than you did."

"Actually, Peter," Neal sighed, "I figured I could talk him out of it, you know." He smiled but due to his discomfort at the moment, it wasn't his best or brightest. "Use my charm and personal skills to calm him down."

Peter could buy that; Neal did have a knack for being able to talk himself out of a tight spot. And when the shot rang out, Neal did look surprised. He may have stepped in front of a gunman, but he hadn't planned on actually being shot. As frustrating as that was, that was Neal being Neal, just as Elizabeth had pointed out to him in a subsequent conversation.

But on the bridge, that was different. There was no denying the significance of the sacrifice Neal had been willing to make. He had let go of Peter's hand when death was the most probable outcome of that action. And the way his blue eyes had closed as he fell, Peter knew that Neal knew that.

He sat down beside him and Neal looked distressed. Peter understood; Neal was tired and wanted Peter to go.

"But after that," Peter asked, "what were you thinking, Neal?"

"When?" a genuinely confused look on his pale face.

"On the bridge," Peter said, "when you pulled that stunt and let go of my hand."

"Oh, that." Neal hesitated, and adjusted himself to a more comfortable position. "I was thinking that if we both fell in, you wouldn't be able to come and save me." His smile was better this time.

"No, really Neal," Peter said, "That could have been it, you know, that could have been the end of you." And you knew it, he wanted to say.

"It could have been the end of both of us," Neal said, "If I hadn't let go."

"You let go to save me, willing to make that kind of sacrifice," Peter shook his head, "After everything I had done…"

Peter knew that Neal's friends insisted he meant nothing to Peter, that he was nothing more than a useful criminal, and Peter, in anger, had validated those claims in the worse way. Neal, who needed to feel valued, had been devalued. The memory of it still haunted Peter, and no amount of apologizing had truly assuaged his guilt.

"It wasn't like that," Neal, who clearly didn't want to be reminded of the worse part of that day, dismissed Peter's comment with a wave of his hand. "It was either me or both of us. I was going into the water either way. No reason to take you with me."

"You know, when you went into the water," Peter's voice tightened at the memory, "I had to find you. And I wasn't looking for a criminal with skills or a CI, or trying to recover lost FBI property. I was looking for you Neal; I was looking for my friend. "

"Really?' Neal's voice sounded cautiously hopeful; eyes glancing up at Peter, reminding him of when he had found him on the riverbank.

"Yes, really," he answered, "It's important for people to know that they matter," Peter said, repeating Neal's own words back to him, "And when they are in trouble, they need to know that someone cares enough to help."

Neal's voice caught in his throat at those words; he looked away quickly. "Yeah, I know."

"I don't do a good job of that," Peter reached over, putting his hand on the nape of Neal's neck, and squeezed reassuringly. Neal tensed at first, unsure of how to respond. There was a slight shudder, followed by the sound of Neal attempting to regain his suddenly lost composure. It had been a long day, and Neal was reeling both physically and emotionally. This was the time, Peter knew. It was the opportunity to sooth the wound in his friend's heart; the wound he had inflicted. It was time to make things right.

Peter shifted his position, moving closer to Neal. His hand left Neal's neck, went to his shoulder and pulled the young man to him. Neal didn't resist and gave into the gentle pressure, resting his head against Peter's chest. Peter sighed at the knowledge that a barrier had been broken, finally.

"You matter Neal," he said, "You were more than a file folder even in the beginning, and you are more than a skill set now. You are my friend and when you are hurt or in trouble, I want to help."

At those words, he felt the young man's body convulse slightly and felt wetness on his shirt as Neal's tears fell unchecked. Peter hoped they were healing tears. After several moments, Peter took one of Neal's hands into his own and squeezed to emphasize his next words. "But you have to trust me enough to tell me when you need me."

"That's not" Neal's voice was still choked with emotion, "easy for me."

"It's not easy for anybody, Neal, but you can do it" he ventured, "when it counts you can do it."

"Like by the water," Neal said quietly, "I remember some of that, you know."

"Really, do you remember what you said to me?" Peter asked.

"I asked you to stay with me, I think." The voice was small.

"Yes, and I did," Neal's head still rested against Peter's chest, but tears had abated. "Anything else?"

Neal didn't answer, and Peter supplied "You squeezed my hand and asked me to not let you go."

"And you didn't," Neal answered softly "either time."

"No, I didn't," His tightened his grip on Neal's shoulder and squeezed his hand again in promise "And I am not going to, ever."

"No matter what?" Soft voice; soft pleading.

"No matter what," Peter reiterated. He felt his promise accepted by the small movement of Neal nodding against his chest.

It was several minutes before he felt Neal's head move away and the grip on his hand release. Peter gave a little nudge of assistance as Neal righted himself beside him on the sofa. The awkward silence between them was different now; Peter didn't mind.

"Sorry I have been so much trouble," Neal broke the silence, his voice quiet and apologetic "I should have told you about Alex. I will try," he emphasized the word, "try, to do better next time."

"Good," Peter nodded, then did his part to lighten the moment. "Does she really collect stuffed rabbits?" Peter asked with a smile.

"She does," Neal looked at Peter a bit abashed; whether from the memory of his outburst or for letting personal information about Alex slip, Peter didn't know. "I think liberating one was her first," Neal continued and stopped again, " alleged criminal act."

Peter raised his eyebrows in question.

Neal gave a half shrug; the best he could do with his injury. "From a rigged carnival booth. She was ten," he finished.

"Theft of a stuffed rabbit when she was ten," Peter said with a smile. "Pretty sure the statute of limitations ran out on that a long time ago."

He stood up, his movement indicating his imminent departure. Neal's face was tear streaked and pale. He needed rest; and they both needed to recover from the emotional moments they had just experienced.

Peter knew he struggled in dealing with emotional issues, not only with of those of others but with his own as well. Other than anger or frustration, which unfortunately seemed to come without effort, he had a hard time expressing how he felt about things and especially about people.

Anger came easy but the kinder and more affectionate stuff was harder for him to express. With Neal, when he felt those emotions, he just ruffled his hair or gave him a reassuring pat on the back. He knew Neal was equally uncomfortable, and so the gestures were accepted for what they were and they both moved on.

But after the Bellington incident, Peter had used his anger to hurt Neal in a way that a pat on the back or ruffling of hair would not make better. Injured by words and actions, it took words and actions to repair the damage. Having wounded the heart with words, only words from the heart would heal them. It wasn't easy but Peter had taken Elizabeth's advice, cowboyed up, and spoken to Neal from the heart. "We good?" he asked.

"Yeah, Peter," Neal answered, looking both pleased and embarrassed at the same time, "We are good."

"Good." Peter reached down and ruffled Neal's dark hair, his preferred gesture of affection, "Get some rest."

"I will," Neal answered, "and thanks for bringing me home...and for well, everything else, too."

"It was the least I could do for a friend, Neal," Peter said earnestly. "See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow, Peter."

Peter returned to his car feeling that he had undone as much of the damage he had inflicted on Neal as he could. Words spoken could be tempered, explained and even apologized for but they could never be taken back. As much as he wanted to forget everything that had happened, there were things he wanted, he needed, to remember. The anguish he felt when Neal disappeared into the water, his complete relief when he found Neal alive on the riverbank and finally, the feeling that overcame him when Neal had squeezed his hand, and said "Don't let me go."

The emotional impact of those event had been tremendous. They made Peter realize what Neal had known all along:

That somethings are more important than anything. Like people.

Like Neal. Peter didn't want to ever forget how much Neal meant to him, how much a part of his life he had become. No matter what happened or even how off course things might get, he would never let that friendship go.

"I promise I won't let you go," he said softly to himself, closed the door and started the car. He couldn't wait to get home to let Elizabeth know that things were, finally, going to be okay again.

The End