Author Note: This story is about 2 years old, but for some reason I never posted it. Enjoy.

Peter drove the car along the darkened road thinking back over the events of the day. Things had not exactly gone the way he planned, or the way he had hoped. He was counting on a certain someone to help him make a big collar, one that would bring to end a year long search for a human trafficker. But unfortunately, things went wrong and he was left in a bad mood. In fact, if he really wanted to admit it, even to himself, he was out right fuming. Pissed. And in a way the whole thing was his fault. He should have known better than to rely on Neal for this one. The man was a con artist, not a highly trained Federal Agent capable of dealing with any and all sorts of situations. Yeah, Neal actually did a great job for them on many cases, always managed to make things go a little easier in the long run.

But there had been those times when Neal screwed up. Little moments that led them to those few occasions when they had to improvise, think quick on their feet, the sort of thing Neal was great at doing. And yet, today he fell short, failed to catch the guy they had gone in search of. Deep down he knew that he should not be entirely mad about the incident. Perhaps on some level he was starting to rely way too much on the former criminal. For some stupid reason he kept trying to convince himself that Neal was actually on the up and up, working off his past crimes to a better future. However, there were small moments where he was left wondering if perhaps he had made the right choice in creating this situation with Neal. He hated to think of the times when Neal went around behind his back, did little jobs to further his own agenda.

Especially when it came to Kate and discovering who had her killed, though a portion of that had been figured out.

Still, he kept relying on Neal. Maybe he needed to get back to the basics, do a few of these jobs without Neal's input, prove to himself that he was still capable of doing his job, of making the right choices and calls. He glanced out of the corner of his eye to see how Neal was dealing with things and was a bit put out to see the former crook sleeping, his head resting back against the seat, eyes closed. On some level he suspected Neal was faking it in order to avoid having any sort of discussion. Probably a good thing because if he started talking now things were bound to get heated. Their target, the man they were supposed to be transporting to jail at this point, had slipped away in a moment of craziness, disappearing into a crowd and actually managing to out maneuver Neal. Peter thought of saying something, was going to make one remark, then decided it might be better to leave it for the time being.

Neal probably felt like shit to begin with, why make it worse?

He could give him hell tomorrow. Then again, the boss would be right there waiting to give Neal an earful so maybe he would just hold back. For a little while. This whole thing had been his idea in the first place. He wanted Neal to know he was disappointed, expected better of him, knew Neal was capable of performing better than he had earlier in the day.

"Care to explain what happened?" he finally asked, breaking the slightly uncomfortable silence that had settled over the car.

"I was wondering how long it would take you," Neal responded, not moving.

"Yeah, well, there is going to be a lot of explaining. The minute that guy got away the shit hit the fan," he said as he navigated a turn. Why the hell had he let his boss convince him to take this particular case? He wished he had known before hand that he would end up far from the city and out in the middle of nowhere in portions of the state he had never seen before. He wanted to get back to the comfort of home.

"What do you want me to say, Peter?" Neal finally looked at him. "He got the best of me. There were a lot more people there than I thought. I am aware that I screwed this up. But we can get him. Let me talk with Mozzie-"

"So now you want to drag him into this? What makes you think we'll be able to continue working the case?" Peter said, quickly glancing at him. "I wouldn't be surprised to find us pulled off the case. This was a long shot, Neal, one I convinced the boss to run with. Now we have not only wasted resources and time, but the scumbag knows that he's being tracked. Do you expect him to lead us right to the girls? Hell no. We'll be lucky if bodies do not start turning up."

"I'm sorry, Peter. How many more times do you want me to say it?"

"Sorry is not going to put this case back together," snapped Peter realizing he should rein in his temper before he let it get the best of him. He tried thinking about home, about finding Elizabeth there waiting for him. A hug and kiss from her, an overly friendly greeting from Satchmo. His world would feel a bit better, a little more right side up. Not that anything at this point would take away the sting of the lashing his boss was going to give him when they returned to the office. He was hoping to at least put that off for a few more hours. All he wanted to do right now was drop off Neal and get home.

"You can always just leave me on the side of the road if that will make you feel any better," Neal suddenly said.

Peter looked at him. "Are you fucking serious? The amount of trouble you might get into. Forget it. I'll take you home, but I want you at the office bright and early tomorrow. I am not taking the heat for this, Neal, not all of it anyway."

"We can still catch him, Peter."

"Forget it. He's probably half way to Mexico by now."

"We can fix this, Peter. I know it."

"We wouldn't have to fix it if you kept your head in the game," grumbled Peter as he went around another blind turn.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know damn well," Peter glared in his direction, his grip on the steering wheel tightening a bit. "Ever since Kate died-"

This time it was Neal who got mad. "Leave her out of this, she has nothing to do with what happened."

"Bullshit," Peter was on the verge of yelling. "You know very well that you have not been on the top of your game since she died. And now, even though you know she rigged the plane to explode, you continue to hunt for more answers. Will finding them actually be helpful, Neal? The more you hang onto this the more obsessed you are going to get. I have seen it happen to agents and particular cases. It destroys their careers, wholly consumes them, and I don't want that for you, Neal."

"Peter-"

He took his eyes off the road as he continued talking, really wanting to get his point across. "Neal, listen to me, you have the ability to completely transform your life, to make things better for yourself and those around you. Stop getting hung up in the past where you can't fix anything. What happened, yeah, it was sad and I get the pain you're dealing with it, but throwing away your life the way you are, it isn't going to help."

"Peter-"

"I can guarantee you that it is not the sort of thing that Kate would want from you," he pushed on, knowing that what he said was true. "You-"

"Peter, watch out!" Neal yelled, his hand reaching out to the dashboard.

Peter turned his attention back to the road. So occupied with finally speaking his mind to Neal he had not been aware of the drunk driver weaving back and forth over the stretch of road. He hit the horn hoping it would help to get the attention of the other drive so that he could get control over his SUV, but no matter how much Peter pressed the noise did not seem to penetrate the other person's fog. He tried to avoid the accident he saw coming, tried to slow the speed of his own vehicle. There was no keeping the two cars from hitting, though, the whole thing happening in the span of seconds. He swerved, pointing the car toward the side of the road. The SUV clipped them, hitting the side of their car. Despite the best of his efforts the car went over the embankment at a rather high rate of speed. In that flash of time he thought of Elizabeth, how much he loved her.

He heard the sound of shattering glass, the crunch of metal as the car connected with one of the trees lining the side of the road. He may have hit his head on the steering wheel before the airbag was deployed. He could not fully remember because everything went black.

A few minutes later he came to, his body aching in the worst possible way. He was slumped forward over the steering wheel, the airbag deflated underneath him. There was a tear along the side from what he could only guess was a piece of glass. Groaning, he moved, sitting up, bringing a hand to his head. There was blood, still warm and wet, near a cut along his forehead. He probed it to check the severity, wincing in pain. Then he began to access his other injuries. A lot of sore muscles, minor cuts and bruises. Nothing that seemed overly life threatening.

Peter turned to have a word with Neal, only to find the passenger seat empty. He frowned, then thought better of it as he felt the blazing pain race through his skull.

"Neal?" he called, trying to figure out what happened to his friend. The passenger door was open so at least he knew Neal had not been thrown from the vehicle. A bit of blood coated one eye making it that much harder for him to make out details. He wiped it away, finally noticing a branch that pierced the windshield on Neal's side of the car. He thought there might be a bit of blood on the tip, hard to tell in the gloom. "Neal?"

Was that a groan he heard from outside the car? Peter fought with his seatbelt. "Hold on, Neal." After what seemed like forever he finally got the safety device undone, tried to open the door only to find it would not cooperate. He threw himself into it, crunching more glass in the process. On the third try it gave sending him tumbling out of the car. His shoulder hit the ground, the impact shaking him to his core, his already sore body protesting at the added trauma.

Peter lay there for a few minutes while he got a grip on the pain. Somehow he managed to climb to his feet using the car for support. As soon as he was on his feet the world began to spin. He screwed his eyes shut before the motion made him pass out. Counting to five he opened his eyes to find the world a bit steadier. With a hand on the car he moved around back end of the shattered and crumbled vehicle.

Neal sat against the car holding his left arm against his right arm where blood oozed from between his fingers. With a slight smile Peter sank down on the ground beside him, fighting off the urge to actually laugh. Somewhere behind them was another FBI car with Jones and Cruz. Everything would be fine as soon as those two swung 'round. Peter looked down the road to see if he could spot the headlights and noticed that the other car, the one that caused the accident, was nowhere in sight. Typical.

"How are you?" Neal asked.

"Not too bad, how about yourself? I saw the branch…"

Neal smiled fleetingly, his eyes twinkling a bit. "Yeah, saw it coming and tried to dodge, failed."

"Doesn't look like it did too much damage," Peter pointed out as he examined Neal for a second time.

"Cut in my arm, bit of pain in my chest," Neal told him, basically shrugging it off.

Peter grunted, then began to fish around his person to locate his cell phone. He thought it might be a good idea to call Jones or Cruz and let them know to keep an eye out for their car. For all he knew it wasn't going to be highly visible in the darkness. He managed to locate the cellphone in his inner jacket pocket, happy that it had not been tossed during the accident, and even more pleased to find it in working order. With the push of a button he heard ringing.

When Jones picked up Peter explained to him what happened, telling him to call it in. Jones expressed his concerns.

"Peter," Neal's voice broke their conversation.

Peter looked at Neal, having heard something in his voice, and instantly did not like what he saw. Neal did not look nearly as good as he had a few minutes ago. The color had drained from his face, his breathing had grown labored. He just about dropped the phone when he noticed how shallow Neal's breathes were, his chest barely rising and falling. And was that a tinge of blue around his lips?

"Neal-"

"My…chest…hurts," it sounded painful for Neal to get the words out.

Peter realized that Jones was yelling in his ear, apparently aware of something being wrong. Without realizing it Peter found himself recounting Neal's condition as it looked like his friend's health was quickly getting worse. Jones told him to put his phone on speaker and rest it on the ground, he had a fairly good idea of what might be wrong. Peter did as instructed.

"Lay him on his back," instructed Jones. "You need to open his shirt and feel around his ribcage-"

"What the hell am I doing, Jones?"

"It sounds like he's suffering from a tension pneumothorax. A collapsed lung," he clarified. "He has air building up in his chest and you need to let it out before it causes cardiac arrest."

Following the instructions given to him over the phone he felt along Neal's ribcage, finding what felt like a broken rib. When he touched it Neal winced in visible pain. Probably the cause of the collapsed lung. Jones told him that he needed some sort of tube, something to stick in between the ribs to help the building air escape. Promising Neal he would be right back Peter went back around to the other side of the car. He began to scramble around looking for the pen he always kept in the cup holder. It had rolled under the break pedal. He worked at getting it apart as he walked back around to Neal. He fell to his knees.

Jones told him to make a cut in Neal's chest making sure to get it between two of the lower ribs. For once Peter was thankful he had a small pocket knife. He pulled out one of the blades and then froze. Was he really going to cut into Neal? Was he sure he was capable of doing this? As he debated whether or not he was capable of doing the job he saw the panic and fear in Neal's eyes, definitely noting a blue tinge around his lips. Either he did it or he let Neal die. Slipping the empty pen tube in his pocket to keep it clean, he felt along Neal's ribcage for a second time, finding the spot Jones said would be perfect. Without giving it a second thought he pressed the knife blade to the skin.

"Sorry," he felt the need to say as he made the cut.

From the expression on Neal's face he suspected Neal might have yelled out in pain if he had been able to. Quickly, blood oozing over his fingers, Peter took the pen tube from his pocket and slipped it into the cut.

"Did you get a hiss of air?"

"Uh, not exactly," Peter responded, his voice shaky. He watched as blood continued to flow out of the tube. He expected a bit of blood given what he had just done, but there seemed to be no end in sight, and he said as much to Jones.

"Shit, sounds like a hemothorax," Jones swore.

"And that would mean…"

"He's bleeding into his chest cavity."

"That doesn't sound good."

"I'm going to hang-up and call for an ambulance. We should be there within a few minutes."

As the connection was severed Peter felt as though he'd lost touch with the rest of the world. Neal lay on the ground before him, a pool of blood quickly forming where the tube drained out of his chest. He could not make out any difference in Neal's breathing, watching the shallow rise and fall of his friend's chest. The longer he watched the more he realized that something was wrong. Not really thinking how much it might hurt or that it might cause more damage, he began to feel for the broken rib. His heart sank as he found not one, but three broken ribs in a row. The area of his chest where the break was did not move the same as the rest of his chest.

With a little more prodding, Neal not in a position to complain, he realized the three ribs were broken on both sides making them free floating from the rest of the ribcage. He chewed on his bottom lip, afraid of what it might mean. Just how severe were Neal's wounds? He said he tried to dodge the tree branch, could it be that he took a direct blow to the chest? He did not even want to think of the extent of damage that could have been done, that may have been done.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a tug on his shirt. Looking down he spotted Neal's hand clasping his shirt. The blood on his fingers mingled with the blood Peter had managed to get on his shirt. Peter took hold of Neal's hand, grasped it firmly. It scared him to feel how cool to the touch Neal was, the shade of his skin a sicken hue of blue-grey.

Neal's eye fluttered closed.

"Stay with me," Peter demanded. "You aren't going to get out of things this easily, Neal. Come on, open your eyes."

Peter looked over his shoulder hoping to see the glow of headlights. Where the hell were Jones and Cruz? What was taking them so damn long? For a few seconds he though he could make out the faint sound of sirens in the distance. Help on the way. Would it arrive in time or would they be too late? Looking back at Neal he noticed that his breathing had gotten worse. How the hell was that happening? Jones told him the chest tube was supposed to alleviate the problem, unless things were much worse than they original thought.

"Neal, come on buddy."

There was no response. He held tighter to Neal's hand, slightly disturbed that he could feel the erratic beat of his heart in the palm of his hand. The words of their argument played over in his mind. He hated to think it would be the last proper conversation they had, after all, there were so many things he often left unspoken, all the things he meant to say but never got around to actually voicing. For some reason he thought of Elizabeth, how would she take the news? Despite the best of his efforts she had grown fond of Neal, hell, she had grown to be somewhat buddy-buddy with Mozzie.

Mozzie.

If Neal died out here on the side of the street on the way back from an FBI case Mozzie would never let him hear the end of it. He closed his eyes, letting out a frustrating sigh.

Unsure of what to do he was on the verge of telling Neal how he felt; letting it all out in hopes it might spark some sort of response from Neal, who for all the world looked dead. Only the rasping sounds of his attempt to breathe let Peter know he was still alive. He opened his mouth to speak when the sound of tires on gravel drew his attention. Jones and Cruz had finally arrived. In seconds Jones was kneeling on the ground beside him, giving Neal a once over.

"He looks like shit," Jones said as he pointed out the obvious.

Peter was fighting his own headache to stay awake, to stay conscious to make sure Neal made it. "Where the hell is that ambulance?"

He blocked out the conversation Cruz was having, probably talking to their boss. Jones pulled out his own cellphone, dialing some number. Peter really wasn't paying too much attention. He was focused entirely on Neal. Up until this moment, this horrible event, he had not realized how much Neal meant to him, and it went beyond his help on the cases. He hated to think of life without Neal, found it hard to even imagine. He had spent countless months trying to find Neal, tracking the con-man, the only person to ever catch him. More than once. Their work relationship went beyond everything he expected, quickly turned into a friendship.

They fought often with trusting each other on certain topics, and yet, though they continued to grow closer they somehow managed to maintain privacy. There were a lot of things about Neal he still did not know. For one thing, he had never been able to clearly identify Mozzie. And there were things in his past he kept from Neal, things he felt comfortable sharing with his wife and his wife only. Now, though, he wished he had time to share more. There were so many things he wanted to do, so many things he wished to express to Neal.

"Neal…"

"Peter."

Hearing his name pass through Neal's lips made his heart flutter, brought a faint smile to his face. When he looked down he saw that Neal had finally gotten around to opening his eyes. He was happy to see those sparkling baby blues, never realized how much he enjoyed the sight of them. They twinkled faintly with the charm Neal used like a weapon. That damn charm that always got the best of everyone. Him included.

"Hey, there is my favorite conman," he joked, feeling a bit of relief.

"You…didn't…" Neal was having trouble getting the words out. "…think I was….going…to let you off…that easy…."

Peter actually laughed, ignoring the spike of pain that drove through his head. "Of course not."

Neal squeezed his hand as the ambulance drew within range, the sirens a most wonderful sound in the night. And before he knew it he was being pushed away, steadied on his feet by Jones as the paramedics went to work on Neal. Everything moved in a flurry making it hard for him to completely understand what was going on. He thought he may have heard one of the EMTs say something about cardiac arrest, he could not be entirely sure. The fringe of his vision started to grow black, he felt a bit faint. He began to feel bad, nausea twisting his stomach. But he fought to stay as he watched the paramedics load Neal into the back of the ambulance.

He heard the doors slam.

Watched as the emergency vehicle pulled away into the dark.

Thought he might have heard Jones say something off to his left.

And then the darkness finally managed to get a grip on him, drawing him down into unconsciousness with the relief of knowing he helped save Neal.