Fandom: White Collar

Title: Man Down

Author: Olivia Sutton

Categories: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, AU Missing Scene / Episode Dependant ("Vital Signs")

Parts: 2, Chapters: 4

Archive: Fanfic Net, otherwise please ask.

Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar, and I'm not making any profit from this. This is for the enjoyment of other fans. Feedback and reviews are most welcome.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Man Down

by Olivia Sutton

Part 2, Chapters 3 and 4

******

Chapter 3

FLASHBACK - Seven Years Ago

******

Peter Burke worked the violent crimes division of the FBI, with his partner Alan Turner and a team of dedicated agents and specialists in criminal behavior and forensic psychology. Alan, the first person Peter ever met when he joined the FBI, had also become a personal friend. They'd often share drinks after work, or catch a game together or even play some pick-up basketball. Elizabeth also liked Alan and had invited him to dinners at the Burke household. Alan was Peter's height, with fine, white blond hair and blue eyes that defied the stereotypical "tough guy" look of most agents.

Violent crimes had been investigating a series of bank robberies for months. A few of the men involved in the crimes were finally caught, but the head of the gang, Phillip Barton, was still on the loose. Until, now, Peter hoped, since they had a lead that Barton was holed up in the warehouse.

Peter and Alan entered the warehouse together, guns drawn, starting their sweep.

Alan coughed into his hand, as he glanced around the dark, dusty room filled with wood crates and cardboard boxes.

"You all right, there, buddy?" asked Peter.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Must be the dust and dirt in here," said Alan.

"Sure?" asked Peter, concern slipping into his voice.

"Yeah, don't be such a mother hen. Now, go left," Alan said, over his wheezing. He pointed to the left of the warehouse and a set of stairs, "You take the second level, I'll check down here."

"Got it," said Peter, stepping away from his partner.

Believing that Alan was fine was Peter's first mistake. Separating from his partner was his second mistake.

Peter searched the second floor of the warehouse. It was a loft-style floor, and only covered half the building, so he was able to determine it was empty in ten minutes. "Alan, there's no one up here," he said into his radio.

Alan didn't answer.

"Alan, come on, don't go off radio now," said Peter, as he made his way back to the stairs.

There was still no answer, so Peter pulled his cell out of his pocket and hit the speed-dial for his partner, but Alan's phone went straight to voice mail.

Oh no, no! Peter thought, his quick walk becoming a run down the stairs to the lower level to find Alan.

Five minutes after he was unable to raise his partner by radio or cell, he found Alan, lying unconscious on the floor of the warehouse. "Agent down! Repeat, agent down! I need back-up and an ambulance at my location," Peter called in to the rest of their team.

"Come on, come on," Peter said as he searched first Alan's breast pockets, then his jacket pocket for the man's ever-present Epi-pen.

Peter found the pen in Alan's left-hand suit coat pocket. Grabbing the pen, he frantically read the instructions, listening to the horrible wheezing of Alan gasping his last breaths. His hands shaking he twisted the cap off and drove the needle of the pen into his partner's leg, depressing the plunger to release the Epinephrine. To Peter's horror, nothing happened, Alan didn't react to the pure adrenaline coursing through his system.

Hoping to find another pen to deliver a second dose, Peter checked, but found nothing.

He began mouth to mouth, pinching shut Alan's nose and repeatedly blowing into Alan's mouth, but his throat was already too swollen and the rescue breathing didn't work, Alan's chest refused to rise and fall. Alan was fading before Peter's very eyes.

Peter dialed 911. "This is Peter Burke, FBI Junior Agent 4325, I have a man down. He's not breathing. His throat is swollen shut. I tried giving him a shot from his Epi-pen but it didn't work. I'm trying rescue breathing, but that's not working either! He's dying! What do I do?"

Following the emergency dispatcher's instructions, Peter used a pen-knife sterilized in the flame of his partner's cigarette lighter, and attempted a tracheotomy. His first cut bled copiously, soaking Peter's hands. He nearly lost his grip on the pen-knife. But no air escaped from the wound. Alan's chest didn't rise.

"It's not working!" he yelled in the phone to the dispatcher. Taking a steadying breath to calm himself Peter said more calmly, "He's still not breathing."

"The incision must be above the blockage. Try again, lower down on the throat."

"Yes, sir," said Peter, taking another steadying breath, then doing as he was told, cutting into his partner's neck.

When Peter made a second incision, Alan gasped, catching a tiny breath through the wound. Triumphant, Peter inserted the old hollow pen tube into the cut to create an artificial airway.

But Alan was still struggling to breathe, his face bluish and sweating. The Epi-pen hadn't reduced the swelling in the his throat, and his respiratory distress actually seemed to be getting worse. Alan gave a high squeaky wheeze and clutched at Peter's hand.

Peter looked around the warehouse for something that could help them, but there was nothing useful. Pushing down his fear and forcing himself to remain calm and non-panicky, he gathered his partner in his arms. Alan was tall but Peter ran with him, Alan's head on his shoulder, his legs cradled in his arms, until they were outside the building. Laying him on the blacktop parking lot outside the warehouse, he tried to blow air into his partner's lungs through the narrow opening of the pen, but he wasn't very successful.

Everything faded into the background as Peter breathed in and then blew into the pen, willing Alan to revive. Suddenly, there was of a pair of paramedics asking him to move back. They took over the rescue breathing and began treating Alan with their sophisticated equipment.

"Burke, What happened?" asked Jones.

Looking around, Peter realized there were two ambulances and several unmarked FBI cars with their official lights shining, parked near the warehouse. "What's going on? Where did all of you come from?" Peter asked, waving a hand towards all the emergency vehicles.

Jones placed a hand on Peter's arm, leading him away from Alan. He opened the door of one of the unmarked FBI cars and had Peter to sit down. "You called in an 'agent down' then didn't answer any calls back, Peter."

"What?" Peter asked, dazed, "I didn't hear any calls back. Alan, is Alan...?" He stopped.

"The paramedics are trying but it doesn't look good," said Jones, honestly.

"What happened? What the heck happened?" asked Peter.

Another man approached the two agents, "We were hoping you could tell us that," said Montgomery, Peter's boss in violent crimes.

Peter stood and locked eyes with the tall man who had steel grey hair and brown eyes, "I don't know. We were searching the warehouse. Alan was coughing a lot, but I thought it was the dust. There didn't seem to be anyone around and we separated to search more quickly. Barton must have left, though. I didn't find anyone, or hear anything. When I got back to Alan, he was unconscious. But there was no signs of violence. I tried one of his Epi-pens, but it didn't work. I tried mouth-to-mouth but that didn't work either. Emergency dispatch had me try a trach, and... and I botched that too. Sir."

Montgomery expression changed from hard professionalism to sympathy for his agent. "This warehouse processed peanuts in a former life."

Peter paled, "Oh, no."

"You couldn't have known, Burke. Jones, take him home. We'll sort everything out later."

"But Alan... I should go with him to the hospital. I should be there, he doesn't have anyone else."

Montgomery looked over at the paramedics working on Turner, "It's too late, Peter. He's gone. The paramedics have to bring him into an E/R for a doctor to make it official, you know they can't diagnose a patient, but.... I'm sorry."

Peter slid down to the ground, "No, no, no, no... oh, no." He looked at his partner, only seeing the blood on Alan's throat, and the paramedics uselessly trying to revive him.

Jones grabbed Peter's arm, "Come on, sir, I'll take you home."

******

End Flashback

******

"The family of Neal Caffrey?" Dr. Greenbean asked walking into the waiting room.

Elizabeth and Peter stood as the doctor approached. El kept her hand firmly on her husband's arm, supporting him.

"Neal has been stabilized, and it looks like he will recover completely. We're moving him to a room, and he will need to stay overnight for observation."

Peter grinned, shaking the doctor's hand. "Can we see him?"

"Once he's settled in his room you can. He's still on a trach tube and oxygen, but we should be able to change to a nasal cannula in a few hours, once all the swelling has gone down. Do you know if he has any allergies to penicillin or other drugs?"

"His records state Morphine, Codeine, and shellfish, but that's all I know," said Peter. "Did you find out what he was given?"

"The tox screen showed Morphine, so we administered Narcan, it reverses the sedation, respiratory depression and low heart rate. The Benedryl and Epi we've given him are reducing the swelling in his throat, but it's not completely down yet. We started antibiotics because of the open wound. He hasn't shown any negative reaction to the antibiotics."

"I understand," Peter said. "But he's going to be OK, right?"

"He should be fine."

"Thank you, Doctor Greenbean."

"A nurse will come and get you when he's settled in his room."

"Thank you, Doctor," said Elizabeth gratefully, as she reached out to shake the doctor's hand.

"Just doing my job." Dr. Greenbean spun on his heel, and left.

Elizabeth turned to Peter and kissed him lightly, "See, he's going to be fine."

Peter returned the kiss, hugged her, "I know, El, I know, I just..."

"You were afraid it would be like last time?"

"Yeah."

******

Chapter 4

******

Peter and Elizabeth Burke sat quietly in Neal Caffrey's hospital room. The young conman was sleeping. The health professionals who had been in and out of the room had insisted that was normal and that Neal needed to sleep.

"Do you want anything, honey? I'm going for a cup of coffee," said Peter.

"What?" asked Elizabeth, startled, then she realized what he had said, "Coffee? No, no that's fine."

"If you're sure?" Peter asked, rhetorically, and slipped out of the room.

Once he was gone, Elizabeth scooted her chair closer to Neal's side. "Neal, I know you're asleep. I just have to tell you, Peter won't admit it, but he needs you."

Neal went right on breathing softly without waking, so Elizabeth began to fill him in on Peter's past - just a little.

******

Flashback -- Seven Years Ago

******

Elizabeth was arranging a vase of flowers in the middle of the dining room table, when she heard the door open. That's weird, I wasn't expecting him home so early, I hope nothing's wrong.

"El?"

Elizabeth shivered, she knew that tone, something was horribly, horribly wrong. She walked quickly into the living room. Peter stood near the door, still wearing his tan trench coat. There were flecks of red on his shirt, jacket, and hands. She flew to his side. "What happened?"

Peter's eyes were dull, full of pain, and he didn't answer.

Elizabeth dragged an unresisting Peter to the sofa in their living room, "Honey, what happened?"

Peter looked away, not meeting El's eyes, "Alan died today, honey. And it was my fault."

Elizabeth gasped, picturing her husband's tall, handsome partner in her mind's eye. He was dead? How? Why? She ran a comforting hand, up and down her husband's arm, "I'm sure it wasn't your fault. Are you okay? You didn't get hurt, did you?"

"It was his allergies, El. We had a lead on Barton for a warehouse out in the middle of nowhere. When we got inside he started coughing. He said it was the dust, and I believed him. How could I have been so stupid?" Peter made a fist with his right hand and hit his other hand, physically beating himself up the same way he'd been mentally beating himself up.

"Stop that right now, Peter Burke!" El exclaimed. "I really don't think it was your fault. Just tell me what happened."

"I thought it was the dust too, and did nothing -- we even separated so we could work faster. When I got back to him he was down, unconscious, and I tried to cut into his trachea to open his airway, but I botched it. The first cut didn't get below the swelling, and the second one -- he couldn't get enough air. He died at the scene, El." Peter cried.

El hugged her husband, tears forming in her own eyes.

Peter, his voice still harsh with tears, said, "The warehouse processed peanuts."

"I figured," Elizabeth answered him.

"I should have done my homework. Checked out the place. Alan didn't need to be on that raid. Barton wasn't even there!"

"Peter, come on, there was no way you could have known. It wasn't your fault. Alan could have called you for help, and he didn't, did he?"

Peter shook his head. "No, no he didn't. But how was he going to do that with his throat closing up on him?"

Elizabeth took Peter's face in her hands, searching his brown eyes, "Peter, it wasn't your fault."

Peter collapsed into his wife's arms, crying on her shoulder.

El held her husband close, tears sliding down her own face.

******

END FLASHBACK

******

"So, you see Neal, Peter went through a OPR review, and FBI-ordered counseling for the loss of his partner. Then he requested and was given a transfer to the White Collar division." She leaned forward and lightly touched the con man's hand for a moment.

"Once Peter received his transfer, he began to keep his working life and his home life separate. Oh, he still told me about work - what he could, but I never saw any of the people he worked with - not for dinner, or drinks." She smiled softly, looking at Neal's face. He still had blotchy, red patches on his cheeks and throat, but they were fading.

"It changed him, he made him more, I dunno, professional isn't the right word, because he was always a good agent. Three weeks after the transfer, your file landed on his desk. It gave him the challenge he desperately needed. You gave him focus, Neal."

There was a small moan from the bed, and Elizabeth saw Neal's bright blue eyes open. "Neal? Neal, don't try to talk, you still have a tube in your throat."

Neal moved a hand up and down his body, then in a circle, indicating the room.

"You're in a hospital, Neal. You had an allergic reaction to the Morphine they gave you at the clinic."

Neal's eyes widened in fear at the word, "Morphine".

"It's okay, Peter did a trach, he saved your life." She lightly touched his shoulder, and tugged at his blanket, smoothing it over Neal's chest. "But you saved him by giving him a challenge when he needed one, so I say you're fair and square."

Neal raised an eyebrow, looking at her questioningly.

"We are huh?" asked Peter from the doorway.

Elizabeth flushed, embarrassed, "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough," said Peter. He walked into the room, right to Neal's side, "Neal, you're awake! It's great to see you awake!"

Elizabeth looked down at the ground contritely, glancing from a grinning Neal to her husband, "I... I just wanted him to know how special he is, Peter."

Peter turned slightly, reached for his wife and ran his hand across her shoulder, "El, it's fine."

"I thought if he knew, if he understood about Alan..." Elizabeth started, "Besides, he was sleeping most of the time I was talking."

Neal emphatically waved a hand, and mimed sleeping.

Elizabeth leaned into her husband's caress, patting Neal's hand at the same time. "I was trying to get him to wake up, it probably didn't register what I said."

Peter shook his head, "I said, it was fine, El. And, if Neal didn't hear everything, I'll fill him in later, myself."

Neal glanced back and forth between Elizabeth and Peter, obviously wanting to talk, but unable to because of the trach tube.

Peter pressed the call button for the nurse. He lightly tapped Neal's shoulder. "Neal, please don't do something like that again."

Neal shrugged with a roll of his eyes.

"I know you went to the clinic to try to get evidence," Peter continued, "but you need to learn to follow procedure and rules. They're there to protect you as well as being a part of the law." Peter took a deep steadying breath, "I don't want to lose you, Neal, you're too good a partner."

Neal's eyes widened in astonishment.

Two nurses and a doctor came into the room. "Hi folks, I'm Dr. Beckwith, I'll be taking over Mr. Caffrey's care from now on." He took the stethoscope from around his neck, and listened to Neal's breath sounds. "Your lungs sound clear." He checked the pulse oximeter showing a bright 99, then smiled, "Much, much better, Mr. Caffrey. Your oxygen sats have improved. I think we can try taking out the trach tube, a nasal cannula will be much more comfortable. Do you have any residual tingling or numbness?"

Neal shook his head, then pointed to the tube in his throat.

"Right, then, this is what we are going to do..."

One of the nurses, turned to Peter and Elizabeth, "I'm Beth. You'll need to leave, all right? If all goes to plan, you can come back in as soon as we've finished."

"Thanks, Beth." Peter said, and he and El left the room.

*****

Peter and El walked over to yet another set of dirty white plastic chairs. Peter gently laid his hand around her shoulders as they sat. Peter said, "He's going to be fine. He's really going to be fine."

El smiled at Peter, "See, I told you."

Peter closed his eyes, and slid against the back of the chair. After a second he opened his eyes, "I thought I was going to lose him. I really thought... when I saw Neal lying there, I really thought I was going to..." Peter left off.

"But you didn't," said El.

"I didn't," Peter said.

"You got to him fast enough. You did what you had to. And you did a good job, Peter."

"Yeah," Peter said. He slid back against the back of the chair.

The two of them sat in comfortable quiet stillness for a few minutes.

El turned to Peter, "You're not really upset about what I told Neal, are you?"

"Of course not, El."

"Good," she said with conviction.

"But why? Why would you bring it up?" He tilted his head at her.

Elizabeth waved one hand in a so-so gesture, "What happened with Alan - it seemed to be on your mind."

"So you decided to tell Caffrey?"

"And now it's Caffrey? What happened to Neal?"

Peter shook his head. He wasn't ready to answer that question.

"Besides, he was sleeping, and you've already said you're not upset, so..." she left off.

"I'm not, El, I'm not mad. I guess, that in a way, it's a good thing."

"Neal probably never knew what it meant to you when you started chasing him."

"El, I wasn't exactly playing Javert to his Jean Valjean, you know."

"I know, but now he's your partner - and you need to start trusting him." She ran a hand up and down Peter's arm. Peter smiled at her, and leaned into his wife's touch.

They remained in companionable silence until Dr. Beckwith came and greeted them a little while later.

*****

Elizabeth and Peter Burke walked into the hospital room. Neal sat up in his bed, still attached to IVs with a cannula in his nose, but he no longer had the trach tube. The only reminder of the short-lived trach was a small gauze dressing at the base of his neck.

Peter walked up to his partner, standing near the head of Neal's bed. "You're looking better."

"I hear you saved my life," said Neal, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

Peter blushed, "It was nothing." Noticing Neal's cool, detached expression, Peter said, "I mean, it was my job..." He left off, flustered. "You know I'm not good at this Neal, don't make me..."

Neal grinned, and let him off the hook, "I'm grateful, Peter."

Peter acknowledged that with a small smile of his own. His tone more serious, he said, "Please stop taking chances like this."

"Can't promise that."

"Be careful?" Peter tried.

"That I can promise. Did you get him? Did you get Powell?"

"Jones and Mannelly are checking over records at the clinic. They're holding Powell and Calloway, pending charges."

"Is there enough evidence?"

"Hopefully. We think so. I don't have all the details, yet."

"Is it admissible?"

Peter looked at Neal, surprised. He grinned, "This is beginning to sound like a bit of role-reversal, Neal."

"Well, you're rubbing off on me." Neal looked off into space for a moment.

Peter lightly tapped Neal's arm, "Maybe we should leave. Let you rest."

"No!" Neal said. He squeaked, that had hurt, he put a hand to his throat. He returned his hand to the bed. "Peter, I didn't mean to come between you and Elizabeth. Don't ever let that happen."

Elizabeth looked at Neal in surprise. "Oh, honey, What are you talking about?"

"You two - you were fighting when I woke up. I don't even know what it was about. But, don't..."

Peter and El glanced at each other. Peter was embarrassed. El looked just a tad angry.

"We weren't fighting," said El with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"We weren't fighting," said Peter at the same time, "I walked in as El was telling you something... something private. I was surprised she told you. But I'm OK with it. Really." He put one hand around his wife's shoulders and patted Neal's shoulder with the other. "We weren't fighting."

"What did she tell me?"

"You didn't hear?" asked Peter, softly.

"No, all I remember was she said something about an OPR review. And a transfer to White Collar Crime. Peter, I never knew you worked anything else."

"What, did you think I was born in the White Collar Crime Unit?" He stood, paced to the end of the bed and back. "I trained at Quantico, I did a year of rotation work, then I did three years in violent crimes before requesting the transfer to the White Collar Unit."

"Oh," said Neal, surprise flooding his face. "Really? You always seemed so suited to investigating white collar crime."

"Look, Neal, I'll fill you in on everything. It would probably do me some good." Peter leaned his shoulder against the wall next to Neal, and ran a hand through Neal's dark hair, "But right now, you need rest. Should I call the nurse or a doctor to check you over?"

"I'm fine."

Elizabeth stroked Neal's arm. "Maybe we should let a doctor determine that, Neal. You know, it was a pretty close thing today."

"OK." Neal scooted up in bed.

Peter pressed the nurse call button above Neal's bed.

Dr. Beckwith and Beth came in. Beth glanced up at the monitor and charted Neal's vital signs on her notes. The doctor took the stethoscope from around his neck, and warmed the bellwith his gloved hands. "I'm just going to check your breathing, Mr. Caffrey." He placed the bell on Neal's chest and listened for a few minutes. Once he was finished, he took the chart from the nurse and wrote a note in the file. "Sounding good."

"I'm just going to remove this dressing." Dr. Beckwith explained, peeling away the tape from Neal's neck. The wound ws bright pink, but there was no bleeding. "Does your throat hurt?"

"A bit," said Neal. "It's not bad," he added.

"We can give you more painkillers."

"It's not bad, really." Neal insisted.

Dr. Beckwith raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "The nurse will check on you in about an hour. Or, you can press the call button if you change your mind. I'm going to check your pupils." He flicked a penlight in Neal's eyes.

Neal winced at the light in his eyes.

"Your pupils are no longer constricted. Was the light painful?"

"Doctor, it always hurts having a bright light in your eyes," Neal pointed out. "But no, no more than normal." He looked at Peter and Elizabeth. "See, I'm fine."

"We're going to keep you for the rest of the night, Mr. Caffrey, but I think you shouldn't have any further complications and you can go home in the morning. You'll need to stay on oral antibotics for three days once you leave the hospital." Dr. Beckwith pointed to the call button. "If you need anything, just press that button."

"Could I have some water?"

"Be careful at first, your neck is still healing and drinking may be painful. Nothing except clear flids until morning, Beth." Beckwith said.

Beth poured Neal a glass of water, raised the angle of the bed, and unwrapped a straw. She stuck it into the cup before handing it to Neal. Neal sipped the water, slowly, with a slight wince.

"I'll be back later," Beth promised as she and the doctor left.

"Neal, El and I should go. Let you get some sleep. But you and I can talk later, all right?"

Neal put a hand on Peter's arm, and said, "Thank you, Peter. I mean it, thank you."

Peter gave the ex-con man a look that said, that's what partner's do. He took Elizabeth's arm to guide her out of the room. Getting out of her chair Elizabeth walked over to Neal and lightly kissed his forehead. "Get better, Neal," she said.

*****

Peter unlocked and opened the door to his house that night. He and El walked in, and he locked the door. Before El even had her coat off, Peter took his wife in his arms, held her close and kissed her.

"Hey, hey, let's at least get out of our coats. Do you want dinner?"

"No, " said Peter and pulled off his coat. Going to hang it in the closet, he stood there, waiting for El's coat. Once he had put away her coat, he led Elizabeth to the sofa in the living room, then took her in his arms. "Hold me, honey."

Elizabeth took him in her arms, and realized he was trembling again. "Peter, what's wrong? What is it?"

Peter didn't answer, staring into space.

"Come on, Peter, talk to me." She ran her hands up and down his arms.

"I can't get the memories out of my head, El. I keep thinking about losing Alan. I keep thinking of how I felt when I saw Neal on the table at the clinic. At first, I wasn't even sure he was still alive."

"But Neal is fine," she kissed him sweetly.

"I know. I'll be all right."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, honey, I don't know why I'm reacting like this."

El gently caressed his shoulders. "You are tense, honey. What do you want?"

"I don't know. I don't know. This was just a nightmare, and right now, all I want is to feel alive, to get a little comfort."

Elizabeth hugged him and kissed him deeply. She let go and crooked her finger at him, pointing towards the stairs. "Come on." She led him upstairs.

*****

The next morning, El and Peter were sitting at the breakfast table, eating cereal.

"El, with everything that happened, yesterday, I forgot to ask you. What news?" He reached for the carton of orange juice on the table and poured some into his glass.

"Huh?" Elizabeth asked, taking a sip of her tea.

"Well, yesterday, you said you had something to tell me. What was it?"

El smiled, "With everything that happened, I wasn't quite ready to tell you."

Peter's stomach dropped, suddenly fearful, and he found it difficul to meet her eyes, "Tell me what?"

"I'm pregnant!" Elizabeth announced ecstatically

"What?" Peter said, stupidly.

"I'm pregnant!"

"Oh, El. Oh, honey," he said, happiness and excitement replacing the fear. "I'm going to be a father?"

El went to her husband and kissed him. "Yep, that's generally what happens."

Peter grabbed Elizabeth and held her tight, kissing the top of her head. He pulled her into his lap, laughing and he kissed her on the lips. "Oh, El. That's terrific! How far along are you?"

"Three months. Would you believe it? I took a self-test a few days ago, then went to my doctor the day before yesterday."

"Honey, that is the greatest news you could possibly have told me. I can't wait. We can set up a nursery upstairs in one of the spare bedrooms, and..."

She kissed him back and stood. "I'm glad you're as excited about this as I am."

"Of course I'm excited, El. We've wanted a child for years. Starting a family... it's perfect."

Elizabeth's eyes shone with happiness, "Now, off with you, you need to pick-up Neal from the hospital. I love you, Peter."

"I know, sweetie. I love you, too." He rose from his chair, then lightly kissed her one more time, before walking out of the kitchen.

*****

Peter drove to the hospital to pick up Neal. He was ready and waiting for him, even already dressed.

"Ready to go home, partner?"

"Yeah, Peter. Did the case stick against Powell?"

Peter shook his head, "The evidence at the clinic was poison fruit. We can't use any of it. No search warrant."

"Damn." A slow, sly grin broke out over Neal's face.

"You got an idea?"

"Oh, yeah. Let's get back to the office. I think you're going to love this, Peter."

Peter smiled. "I'm sure I will, Neal."

The End