A/N: Right, NaNoWriMo is done (I did it! 50,000 words!), the holidays are over, and I've got a few days before the new semester starts. Time to get back to this story.

After the first nightmare, Mozzie got Dr. Brillo to increase the dosage on Neal's sedatives. So far the bad dreams hadn't returned, and Neal was able to sleep peacefully for the better part of the next few days.

Peter divided most of his time between the Bureau and the hospital, tracking down leads all day and coming to see Neal at night. Each night, Peter would come into the room, sit in the chair beside the bed, and tell Neal everything about the day. The increased medication meant Neal was sound asleep through most of it, but Peter talked to him anyway. It was just as much for his own benefit as it was for Neal's. It helped him get all of the day's frustrations out of his system.

Tonight he walked into the room and sank down into the chair wearily.

"Hi Neal," he said quietly. "I'm glad to see you're sleeping well, no more nightmares. Y'know, this place has practically been a revolving door these last few days? Yeah, I don't think Dr. Brillo's too happy about that, but you've been too out of it to notice. Everyone's been here to see you: El, Mozzie, June, Diana, Jones...Westley even dropped by. Heck, even Hughes came and sat with you for an hour or two yesterday. Everybody's worried sick about you, Neal. It's like the whole Bureau's on overtime until we find Keller. It's not just White Collar, either. We've got agents from almost every division helping out on this. Good thing, too; we need all the help we can get. Keller's gone completely to ground. We thought we had a lead on him today, but..." he sighed and rubbed his temples. "...ah, it was just another dead end."

He sat silent for several long moments and watched the steady rise and fall of his friend's chest, listening to the beeping of the monitor as it registered each heartbeat with precision. His eyes were drawn to the heavy bandages around Neal's right shoulder, and rage began to boil up inside of him, as it did every time he came here and sat in this chair and was forced to see his closest friend in this state.

When he finally spoke again, his voice shook. "Neal, I'm angry. I'm angrier than I've been in a long time. And I'm scared of what I might do to Keller when we finally catch him." He laughed mirthlessly. "You shoulda seen me in the coffee lounge the other night, lecturing Mozzie about how 'we don't do revenge, we've gotta do this the right way, due process of law' and all that crap. But the truth is, Neal, I want the exact same thing Mozzie wants—I want to make Keller pay for what he's done. I wanna see him suffer. I want there to be blood, and screaming, and—oh geez Neal, listen to me! So much for 'straight-laced, by-the-book Peter Burke,' huh?"

Peter drew in another shaking breath and tried to calm himself. "Neal...I can't imagine my life without you. You've done so much good and you've touched so many lives. I don't think you really get how important you are to all of us. You...you're the closest thing to a son I've ever had. You may be the closest thing to a son that I'll ever have. You probably think I'm not interested in having kids. I know it's not something I ever talk about. Truth is, El and I have tried off and on for the last ten years to have kids, but...I don't think we can."

He shook his head. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. Anyway Neal, I guess what I'm trying to say is...I wanna help you through this. In whatever way I can. And I'm rambling now. I've been rambling, every time I've come here. I don't guess you mind."

Neal stirred, and his eyelids fluttered open. "Hey, Peter. Any luck finding Keller?"

"We've got agents working round the clock," Peter said, and he wondered if Neal had heard any of what he'd just been saying. "Still no leads. Every time we think we've got something—"

"—he's already three steps ahead of you." Neal finished.

"More like ten." Peter said.

"That's Keller for you." Neal said grimly.

The door opened behind him, and Peter turned around to see Dr. Brillo enter the room with a smile.

"Looks like the two of you could use some good news." Brillo said, noticing their discouraged expressions.

"We could." Peter agreed. "Do you have some good news for us?"

"I do." Brillo nodded. "Our latest blood test shows that Neal's infection has almost completely cleared up."

Neal's eyes brightened. "That means you can do the surgery now?"

Dr. Brillo nodded. "We just sent word to St. Francis Hospital. You'll be airlifted there first thing tomorrow morning and taken to surgery immediately. You'll have one of the best neurosurgeons in the world performing the operation."

Peter and Neal exchanged surprised glances, and Peter asked, "Who?"

"Dr. Fadil Rehema." Brillo replied. "He's flying in from Egypt as we speak."

"Egypt? Wow." Peter gave an impressed whistle. "How'd he get wind of Neal's case?"

"That's the strange thing." Brillo said. "Dr. Rehema phoned this morning and told me he'd received an anonymous e-mail; someone offered to pay all of his expenses if he would agree to come to New York and perform a simple reattachment surgery."

Neal raised his eyebrows. "Simple?"

"His phrasing, not mine." Dr. Brillo explained. "To a man of his caliber, reattachment surgery is child's-play. With Dr. Rehema wielding the scalpel, the chances of this surgery being successful go from thirty percent to...oh, I'd say about sixty or seventy percent."

It took every bit of self-restraint Peter could muster to keep from jumping out of his chair and whooping for joy. Instead he looked at Neal with a grin and said, "How 'bout that, Neal? Looks like you're gonna be in good hands tomorrow."

"The best." Neal's grin was equally wide. "Peter, in 24 hours I could have my arm back."

"There's still—" Dr. Brillo started to say. There's still a pretty big margin for error, of course. There's every chance it won't be a success. He stopped himself, and let his partial sentence go unnoticed in the midst of Neal and Peter's excited discussion. Professionally speaking, it wasn't a good idea to let them get their hopes up. They ought to know all the facts.

But Brillo knew that they did know all the facts. He had explained them enough times already. With a small smile, he quietly slipped out of the room.

"Neal, this is great." Peter's face glowed as he pulled his phone from his pocket. "I'm gonna go call El."

He stepped out into the hallway, passing Mozzie in the doorway as the con man entered the room.

"Moz, did you hear?" Neal asked as his friend sat down.

Mozzie nodded. "I did. Dr. Brillo just informed me of your good fortune."

"Yeah, speakin' of good fortunes, I wonder how that anonymous e-mailer got the money to pay all of Dr. Rehema's expenses for his trip here..." Neal raised his eyebrows and let the sentence hang in midair.

Mozzie brushed it aside with a casual wave of his hand. "That...particular sum of money merely scratches the surface of our own vast wealth."

"I'm glad to know you won't miss it much." Neal said.

Mozzie sat up straight and sniffed with a surreptitious air. "I have...no idea what you're talking about."

"Moz." Neal smiled. "Thanks."

"Anything for you, Neal." In truth, Mozzie would have gladly parted with the entire treasure if he thought it would guarantee his best friend's full recovery.

Peter came back into the room, still grinning. "El's ecstatic. She's heard of Dr. Rehema; she says that he's very, very good."

"Good?" Mozzie raised his eyebrows. "Calling Fadil Rehema good is like calling the Mona Lisa a finger painting. The guy's a legend. He's known as the Miracle Man of the Middle East."

Peter gave him a quizzical look. "How do you know so much about an Egyptian neurosurgeon?"

Mozzie shrugged innocently. "My knowledge of people is not merely limited to the criminal underworld, Suit."

"Uh-huh..." Peter sounded unconvinced.

"Well," Mozzie made for the door. "I'll leave you two to talk about...whatever it is you talk about when I'm not around." He stopped at the threshold and turned around. "Ah, Suit. About my house arrest..."

"You go where Neal goes." Peter assured him. "You'll be going with us to St. Francis tomorrow."

Unable to bring himself to say the words "thank you" in regards to house arrest, Mozzie let his gratefulness register on his face, giving Peter an appreciative smile before turning and leaving the room.

Peter sat down. "You excited? Scared?"

"Both." Neal replied.

"Yeah, me too." Peter gave a nervous laugh. "I've got butterflies doing backflips in my stomach right now. I can't imagine how you're feeling."

"My butterflies are part of an acrobatic troupe." Neal said.

"Think you can calm down enough to go back to sleep?" Peter asked him.

"I hope so," Neal said. "I don't wanna lay awake all night worrying about tomorrow."

Peter stood up. "I'm gonna head home. El and I will be back up here first thing tomorrow morning. You try to rest some more."

"All right." Neal smiled and closed his eyes. "Night, Peter."

"Goodnight, Neal." Peter returned the smile as he left the room.