Author Note: For those interested I have posted the link to my original slash (male/male) short story now available for purchase. =)

When Peter came to the first thing he saw was Elizabeth sitting at his bedside. Her hair was a bit of a mess suggesting she might have spent some uncomfortable hours in the hospital provided chair and her nose was currently buried in a cooking magazine. He blinked back the bright light of the room trying to remember what happened, knowing from the annoying beeps that he was certainly in the hospital. The pain was a good indicator as well. And then it all came rushing back to him.

Perhaps he groaned or made some other minor noise because Elizabeth looked up from her magazine; which quickly became an afterthought once she saw him awake.

She stood at the side of his bed, wrapping her fingers with his and smiling softly. "Hey, look who finally decided to wake up. How are you feeling?"

"Like I was in a car accident."

"Nice to see your sense of humor remains intact."

She helped to get him in a seated position. For a moment or two the vice on his head tightened, then eased. "How bad is it?"

"Concussion. They think you hit your head on the steering wheel," she explained. "It was a matter of keeping you over night since you last consciousness. They just wanted to err on the side of caution. I've also seen pictures of the car and am thankful," she shuddered. "Jones was talking about it being totaled. I always worried about losing you to a bullet or something, but now apparently I should start worrying about your ability to drive."

Peter appreciated her attempts of lightening the mood, but there was a burning question on the tip of his tongue, one she must have known was coming and wanted to avoid. "Neal, how is Neal?" He saw clearly in his mind the blood on his friend's chest, the panic in those blue eyes. "He's okay, right?"

Elizabeth lowered her gaze, running her thumb in tight little circles on the back of his hand.

"El, please…"

Did he see tears?

"Neal…" she choked up.

Peter felt a stab of pain. Could it be that his efforts to save Neal failed after all? What would it be like to return to work without the con-man at his side? Would he even be able to do it? After all this time he considered Neal a part of the team. He knew that Jones and Diana felt the same way. Neal had worked his way into their hearts with his charm, the same charm he used to con people, but what did that matter at a time like this? And Mozzie, oh poor Mozzie.

Wait.

Peter frowned.

If Neal had died he would have expected Mozzie to be the one waiting for him when he woke-up, the mysterious know-it-all ready to give him hell for getting his best friend killed.

"How bad is it?"

She swallowed down her sorrow. "In critical condition. He lost a lot of blood and they had to revive him twice. His system took quite a blow, sweetheart, but the doctor says what you did out there on the side of the road gave them precious minutes," she looked him in the eye. "Your efforts helped to save his life."

Peter was starting to feel tired, no doubt the effect of whatever medication they had him on. His body ached in so many places, he could only imagine the number of bruises and they pretty shades they temporarily tattooed on his skin. He put up little fight against the desire to sleep knowing now that his friend was okay, but still, one question bugged him to be asked. "If I saved his life," his voice having fallen to a whisper and prompting Elizabeth to lean forward, "why is he critical?"

"Standard hospital procedure for some who just had risky surgery," she explained, running a hand along his cheek and up through his hair. She planted her soft lips against his forehead momentarily. "Baring any sort of infection he'll be moved in a day or two." Her next kiss brought their lips together. "You're my hero," she whispered as he drifted off.

When next he came to the room was dark save for the soft glow of a night light. Elizabeth was gone; which he found made him feel better. He rather she be at home in bed, perhaps Satchmo curled up at her side, getting a decent nights rest. It was better than spending her time in the hospital fretting. He just wished that he could be there with them both.

Trying to figure out what it was that work he realized it was the dire need to relieve his bladder. In the hospital or not, he saw no reason why he couldn't walk over to the bathroom under his own power, after all, he suffered a little head trauma, nothing terribly major. Not like Neal. He tried not to think about his friend as he tossed aside the slightly itchy hospital blanket, only to be horrified at the sight of the hospital gown. He loathed the things. The need to pee grew. Putting everything else out of his mind he swung his legs over the side of the bed, grimacing at the pain in his chest. Pealing back the collar of the gown revealed an ugly bruise where the seatbelt did its job.

Then he got to his feet.

And the room swayed enough that he perched on the edge of the bed. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and reopened them. Everything remained in its proper place. A dull throb began behind his eyes as he began the journey to the bathroom. He took slow steps, one hand on the wall in case another dizzy spell should sweep over him. The bathroom was a tiny cramped little area, but he didn't care, closing the door and going about his business.

A short time later he felt immensely better, moving in front of the sink to wash his hands. He even splashed a bit of the cold water on his face. There was a white bandage wrapped around his head. Curious, he pulled up the edge to reveal the cut he knew would be concealed beneath. It was surrounded by an ugly bruise, matching some he had found on his legs. That was definitely the last time he wanted to get into a car accident. Moving with a bit more ease he left the tiny bathroom and looked around the room. He knew the doctor would give him an earful and no doubt send him back to bed, but that was absolutely the last place he wanted to be. He was horrible when it came to taking time off, especially when there was something more important to be seen to.

Peter wanted to search out Neal, see with his own two eyes that his friend was going to live. It's not that he thought his wife was lying, not in the least, he just wanted to be doubly sure.

Poking around the room he was able to find his clothes neatly tucked away in a cabinet. Of course, his ID and gun were missing, no doubt waiting for him in the safe at home. They certainly wouldn't want a gun in the hospital. With a bit of work Peter managed to get into his pants, happy to have something to cover his rear. He saw no reason to flash the entire hospital his underwear. What he wore under his clothing was none of their business. Great relief followed the complete removal of the hospital gown; which he tossed on the bed. Bare chested he got a great view of the bruise crossing his chest, a perfect tattoo by the seatbelt. At least the darned thing had done its job, for that he would be grateful.

Slipping on his shirt proved to be a bit harder than his pants. There was a great deal of pain when he raised his arms over his head. He grimaced, but worked through it. Had he been wearing his usual button down it wouldn't have been an issue, but he had opted for a polo, wanting to look a bit more relaxed. Though a lot of good it did since everything about the case went south. Sock and shoes in hand he sat on the edge of the bed. Getting them on proved to be a challenge. Every time he bent forward and brought his foot up he felt ever single muscle in his back. He wondered if this was what it felt like to have whiplash. A task that should have taken him less than five minutes wound up lasting fifteen, if the clock on the wall was any indication.

Dressed and feeling somewhat more human he moved toward the door, pulling it back to have a peek at the hallway. Nightlights illuminated the span of tile and bland white walls. Definitely passed visiting hours. How was he going to find Neal, he wondered as he stepped into the hall, and how was he going to explain himself if he should happen to run across a nurse or doctor? Passing by a trashcan he removed the bandage from his head and tossed it in. Too bad it wasn't so easy to remove the bracelet around his wrist.

Peter tried to walk with purpose and like he did not hurt in a million different places. The dull throb in the back of his skull seemed to grow worse the more time he spent on his feet. But he was a man on a mission. He needed to see Neal.

Following the signs he managed to work his way to Critical Care, but stopped just before rounding the corner. There were two nurses manning the station outside the rooms. Somehow he had to get by them. If only he possessed the charm of his friend. He imagined Neal strolling up to the two ladies, fedora in hand, those blue eyes locking on, flashing that trademark smile, and he would cook up some story to buy their sympathies and let him in. Over the years he picked up one or two things from Neal, but he certainly wasn't capable of conducting such a con.

Then again…

An idea popped into his mind as his eyes settled on the gold ring on his finger.

"Sorry, El," he whispered under his breath.

Peter sucked in a breath, squared his shoulders, and sent up a silent pray that what he was about to do would work, then he stepped into the hallway. He was nearly upon the nurses' station before they noticed him. How the hell did Neal do it, he wondered, trying to fight down the nervous flutter in his stomach. He wasn't sure if the desire to throw-up came from his nerves or the worsening headache.

He approached the desk doing his best to look forlorn. He was going for the lost puppy dog approach and hopefully pulling it off. The pounding in his head made it easier, he had to admit. The nurses looked up at the sight of him, their conversation dying as he drew within range. One of them reached for the phone no doubt getting ready to call for security.

"Please," Peter said, offering them a pitiful smile, "I just want to see someone."

"Visiting hours are over," the older nurse said, narrowing her eyes.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, eyes a bit downcast. "I know…it's just…" He had what he thought to be a convincing lie, but could he actually do it? "Um…I was in car accident, you see, and my boyfriend was with me and he's here in intensive care. I know I should be in bed taking it easy, but I really wanted to see him and…"

And there it was, he had just fibbed to the nurses. He could only imagine what Elizabeth would have to say when she found out. At first she would certainly be angry with him for getting out of bed. Then he knew she would understand his desire to see Neal. Knowing her, she'd laugh at his story. At the moment all that really mattered was whether or not the nurses believed him.

The younger one settled the phone back in its cradle. "Maybe we can make an exception in his case."

"You do it for one; you have to do it for others."

"What others? There's nobody else here. No one is going to see."

The older nurse chewed on her bottom lip, thinking it over.

"Please," Peter pleaded.

Finally the older nurse sighed. "All right, but only for a few minutes," she stressed. "Then one of us is going to escort you back to your room. Understood?"

"Of course," he nodded. Bad idea. The nurse was talking, her lips moving, but Peter could not make out what she was saying. The edges of his vision began to blur and turn black. Feeling unsteady on his feet he held a little tighter to the counter not wanting to take a nasty tumble to the floor, especially not when he was so close to seeing Neal.

And the moment passed.

"Are you okay?" the younger nurse asked, a look of concern on her face.

Peter realized he must have been asked a question or something and failed to respond. "Yeah, just a little dizzy."

"Oh…"

"I'll be fine. Already feeling better," he was quick reassure.

"Well…okay. What is your boyfriend's name?"

"Neal Caffery," he replied, the name slipping out. Then he second guessed himself; what if he wasn't in as Neal? The man had so many aliases. Peter wasn't even 100% sure Neal was his real name. the young nurse hit a few keys.

Her older companion, the name tag on her uniform identifying her as Maude, stepped around the counter. "Follow me," she said heading off down the hallway. Peter fought to remain on his feet as he followed. A few minutes later she stopped before a door. "You can have five minutes. No longer. I could get in a lot of trouble for this."

"Thank you. I really appreciate it."

"I'll wait out here so you can have some privacy."

Peter braced for what lay ahead and entered the room. there was the soft glow of the night lights and the steady hum of machinery. The first thing he noticed was the lack of respirator. The fact Neal was breathing on his own was a relief. At bedside he saw that Neal was still being fed oxygen. There were so many wires he began to worry he might unplug something vital. With minutes ticking by he took hold of Neal's hand. He wasn't entirely sure what he should say so he just started speaking.

"Who knew that when your file landed on my desk you would wind up being such a big part of my life? After everything you and I have been through…" Peter got choked up, clasping Neal's hand firmly between his, bowing his head. He ignored the pain. A tear slipped free. "You can't leave, Neal. Think about Mozzie and Elizabeth and Jones ad Diana. Think…" The edges of his vision blurred and he swayed on his feet. "Don't leave me, Neal, please…don't go…"

There was an intense jolt of pain followed by a wave of sickness. Peter tried to call out but the darkness claimed him swiftly and he fell to the floor.

When next Peter awoke he was once again in his hospital bed with an angry Elizabeth glaring down at him. The first thing he did was a quick assessment of his condition, if he felt decent enough he wanted to order a discharge. The hospital could not keep him if he did not want to stay. He needed to be doing something; maybe looking for the drunken fool that sent them careening off the road. Hell, he was more than willing to spend days sitting at Neal's bedside if it meant he would eventually walk out of the place, too.

"I can understand your motivation, sweetheart," Elizabeth was speaking, snapping him from his thoughts. "But it was foolish. You could have hurt yourself. And those poor nurses, I think you owe them an apology. You gave them a pretty good scare. From what I understand they had to use a security guard to get you back to your room. They could have gotten in a lot of trouble, Peter."

"I know," he said, his voice low. "I had to see him…"

Instantly she softened, settling on the edge of his bed, a hand on his chest. "Hurting yourself won't help Neal. You should consider yourself lucky. When you fell you hit your head on the tile floor. It doesn't seem to have done any further harm, but there's no telling what could have happened…"

He took hold of her hand and brought it to his lips for a quick kiss. "I'm sorry."

"How did you manage to convince them to let you in anyway? It was well after visiting hours."

"I…"

As he was attempting to find a way to deliver his lie there was a soft knock at the door. A second later it opened to admit Jones and, much to Peter's surprise, Mozzie. Just as he began to wonder what had become of Diana she swept in behind them with a vase of flowers under one arm and a balloon clasped firmly in her hand. It was then that he noticed Jones carried a card and Mozzie a bottle of some sort of alcohol; knowing Mozzie it would be a fine wine.

"You guys will just have to wait a second," Elizabeth addressed them. "My wonderful husband was just going to tell me how he managed to get in to see Neal last night."

"There's no point in boring them with that," he suggested, not wanting to say in front of all of them. Elizabeth would be amused, but he wasn't entirely sure how the others would take it.

"Oh, do tell," Jones pushed. "If it matters any none of us were surprised."

"There's no getting out of this, is there?"

"Nope," the group chorused, aside from Mozzie, who seemed oddly quiet and perhaps even uncomfortable. In that moment Peter wanted to speak with him privately. He could only imagine the pain Mozzie must be feeling. Did he have anyone to turn to when he needed a shoulder to cry on, someone other than Neal? That was enough to send him down a familiar road. More often than he cared to admit he found himself wondering just what the relationship was between Mozzie and Neal. Did it stop at friendship or go beyond? Sure, he saw Neal with Sara and he pined for Kate for so long, but in the long run he was always turning to Mozzie. And Mozzie, well, the little guy never seemed to have a romantic connection to anyone.

Expect for maybe Elizabeth.

Would his lie cause trouble?

"Come on, out with it," Elizabeth playfully slapped his shoulder.

There was no escaping. "I told them I was his boyfriend."

For a moment there was stunned silence, then Jones started laughing. Diana and Elizabeth weren't too far behind. As he expected Mozzie was quiet, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Peter lay there while the others made jokes and amused themselves. All he wanted was to get a few minutes alone with Mozzie. The two of them never really saw eye-to-eye. He was always Mr. Suit and he knew that Mozzie wasn't especially keen on the idea of Neal working with the FBI. He didn't want this to be yet another incident that widen the gap between them. It was evident he wanted Neal to remain in his life and that meant Mozzie came as part of the package. Tension between them would only cause Neal stress.

After a few suggestive glances on his part he seemed to get his point across to Elizabeth. Ever the lovely wife she rounded up the others and began to usher them out the door. before they could leave, however, Peter spoke up. "Mozzie, if I may have a word with you…"

It almost looked like Mozzie was going to leave, frozen by indecision in the door. Elizabeth gave him a kiss on the cheek, whispered something in his ear, and gave him a gentle push toward the bed.

Peter waited until the door closed. "I'm sorry."

"For?"

"I think you know exactly what for," he replied. "Look, I love Elizabeth. She's the only one for me, Mozzie. Now and forever. My little white lie wasn't meant to hurt anyone. I merely wanted to gain access to Neal's room and it was the only thing I could come up with."

"You've obvious learned little from Neal."

Peter chuckled. "So it would seem."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I don't want you to be mad."

Mozzie fiddled with his glasses. "I'm not mad…I mean, I was, but not anymore. I can no more control Neal than you can. He will always make his own choices."

A moment of silence passed.

"I'm sorry about the accident."

For the first time since he'd known him Mozzie seemed at a loss for words. He was usually ready with a quick reference or witty retort. Coming so close to losing Neal…

"Are we okay?" Peter wanted to know.

Mozzie looked at him for a few minutes. "As good as we're every going to be, Mr. Suit."

Peter dozed off and on for the rest of the day. At one point he recalled Elizabeth standing by his bed and saying something about him discharged later in the day. He was tired, exhausted. The case he'd been working with Neal had taken a lot of energy and to end the way it did, well, he welcomed the right to just lay around and do nothing. Every minute he spent sleeping he dreamt of Neal, the crimes they worked together, crazy little moments that were complete works of fiction.

Sometime in the middle of the afternoon he woke to a gentle shaking.

Elizabeth.

"Hey, sleepy head," she smiled softly. "You ready to go home?"

"Sure," he mumbled, liking the idea of his own bed and seeing Satchmo.

She had already gathered his things and packed them neatly in a bag. "Come on, let's get you dressed."

This time around it was much easier to get his clothes on, his muscles not nearly as sore. And the room stayed relatively still. When she presented him with a wheelchair outside the room he drew up short.

"Hospital policy, apparently," she told him.

Had he more energy he might have argued, instead he fell into the chair, bag on his lap. Elizabeth began pushing him along the halls. They passed doctors and nurses, patients and visitors. It took Peter a couple of minutes to realize they weren't heading for the door. The path seemed oddly familiar, as though he had taken it before.

"Where are we going?"

"Neal woke up earlier today," she explained. "He requested you."

Peter's heart jumped. All of a sudden he was nervous. Why? He had a close relationship with Neal. They were friends. Family. There was no reason for him to be feeling this way. Then again, given their last conversation…He wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say. At one point they should have taken a left, instead El kept going. Neal had been moved, now expected to make a full recovery and therefore no longer in need of the critical care unit. When they reached his new room Peter had Elizabeth stop at the door. He got to his feet, putting the bag in his seat, and stood before the door.

He gave a soft knock before entering the room. Upon entering the room Neal, who was sitting up, a newspaper across his lap, looked in his direction. Evidence of Mozzie was present in the room, mostly by the empty bottle in the trashcan. Peter now understood that Mozzie had to sneak the alcohol in or perhaps he bribed someone with his conman charms. At the sight of his friend, those eyes sparkling, Peter realized he had no idea what to say.

"Going home?" Neal spoke up first.

"Yeah."

"I hear you saved my life with a pen."

Peter smiled. "Pretty much."

"Thank you."

Was that the heat of a blush he felt? Since when did he blush? "I can't let you die on me yet, Neal, you're too useful. Plus, I can only imagine the horror Mozzie would rain down on my life."

"He can be pretty crafty."

"So I've learned."

Neal neatly folded the paper. "You know, there is one thing I do want to know…"

"Oh?"

There was an amused twinkle in his eye. Someone told him. "Do I get to sleep on the left side of the bed or the right?"