Alright, I am back with another unnecessarily long White Collar one shot. This one was inspired by the song "How to Save a Life" by the Fray. Fantastic song. I just thought more could have been done for the finale and I had to write it. I've been working on this for way to long, but I hope it is to your liking! Anyway, here is How to Save a Life. Read, enjoy, and constructively review! Thanks a ton!

Disclaimer: White Collar is not mine, just the idea for the story.

Warnings: Small amount of violence and tons of angst.

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

How to Save a Life by The Fray

Mozzie let out a deep breath before knocking on Neal's door; merely a courtesy as to announce his presence prior to pushing open the door and moving into the apartment. He looked out the glass doors to the balcony where his friend stood by its railing; looking at the city view without really seeing it. He looked so…beaten. Ok, thought Mozzie as he adjusted his glasses and attempted to steady his nerves. Step 1: Confront the individual through conversation. The small man took a deep breath and walked toward his long-time friend, unnerved that Neal had yet to notice his entrance. Mozzie always knew when Neal realized he was there because he would always move his head just slightly to position his ear in his direction.

Moz stopped and looked at his friend for a moment and realized just how much of a toll the events of the day had taken on him. His dead eyes stared listlessly over the city as he leaned slumped over the balcony edge. He had let his 'cool guy' facade drop meaning he was not in a good place. Mozzie almost decided to botch the whole plan, simply be here for Neal tonight, but when he truly thought it through, this needed to happen today. Right now. His friend was spiraling and he needed to be set straight again.

"Neal?" said Mozzie, surprised by the slight jump from the young man before him.

"Mozzie," said Neal almost cheerfully, quickly finding his mask again and hiding his emotions behind an almost convincing smile. "Didn't hear you come in."

"I know," said Mozzie, not trying to hide his worry. "Guess there's a first time for everything, huh?" he unsuccessfully tried to joke. This was not the time for such things.

"What can I do for you, Moz?" asked Neal as he looked back at the cityscape.

"Neal," said the tiny man feeling more confident than he felt, his palms clammy, "can we talk?"

Mozzie watched as Neal's body tensed but turned to follow his friend back into the apartment nonetheless. Mozzie took a seat on the couch, the cushiness having the potential to add more comfort to the conversation than the hard wooden chairs at the table. That would make this feel like more of an interrogation than one friend talking to another. Neal, however, remained standing, his face appearing calm like it was any other day, but his eyes full of suspicion. "What's this about?" asked Neal, surprising the conspiracy theorist with the slight hardness in his voice.

"Come on," said the bald man as he gestured to the seat beside him, "sit down. It's just a talk." He tired to give the ex-con a convincing smile, knowing he failed.

Neal sent a smile back at Mozzie, but the conman could see right through it. The forger before him was tired, sad, angry, suspicious, confused and hurt from everything that happened today and Mozzie knew what he was about to do wasn't going to help. Nonetheless, Neal sat down, not next to his friend on the couch, but instead on the plush chair by the door; a con artist's cornerstone plan in case he needs to escape. A definite sign of distrust if Mozzie ever saw one.

That hurt.

"Ok, I know this is the last thing that you want to hear right now," said Mozzie, trying to hide his shaking hands from Neal. He had to look strong and confident now more than ever, "but its time to talk about Kate's death, Neal." He watched as his friend looked to his right followed his gaze out the balcony windows toward the skyline. "Can you please look at me?"

"What do you want me to say?" said Neal a little more defensively than Mozzie had expected. He figured Neal would try to avoid the conversation, work his magic and redirect the issues, but not this. He Neal almost never became defensive; he always told Mozzie that once your mark knew you were in this state, the game was lost. No one trusted a defensive man. They would go on edge and stand their ground, not allowing you to lead them in the right direction. That was how Neal lived his life.

"I don't know," said Mozzie honestly, "but I know I just want you to say…something. Neal, I have been where you are. Gina left after her kidnapping. Now, I know it isn't the same thing as you, but she's gone for good, too. I know what it feels like to lose someone you care about. I went through foster care, losing people I cared about over and over again. I kept it in and I became bitter and I don't want that to happen to you."

"It won't," said Neal annoyed as he stood up from his chair, raising his voice a little.

"It already is," said Mozzie, remaining calm. He had to remain calm; he had to make him see.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Mozzie could hear the slight shake in his lying voice. He was getting through.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," he said, his voice slightly stronger, but still filled with understanding. He needed Neal to see that he wasn't out to get him, that he wanted to be here for him, but also that he wasn't just going to let him get away this time. "Neal, you're sneaking around behind Peter's back and doing things that you would have never done before. You're still young; don't throw the rest of your life away."

"Don't make this about my age, Moz," said Neal, his back to his friend, dismissing him. "I'm not a child."

"Then why did Peter have me keep an eye on you?" said Mozzie, not to offend, but to get Neal to turn and look at him again. It worked, but the balding man could see the anger building in his friend's eyes, his heart uncharacteristically on his sleeve. He had to bring this back down before it got messy. "I'm worried about you and so is Peter." Mozzie saw Neal roll his eyes slightly at the comment. "It's nothing new, Neal. Peter and I have been trying to point these issues out to you for months. You aren't acting like the Neal Caffrey I know, the world class conman who would rather drink wine with the lion than slaughter the lamb. This isn't the man I pretended to have a seizure for so he could steal a Rafael. My friend would have jumped off a cliff to escape rather than throw a punch and fight his way out. That was the man I trusted to have my back during a heist. That was the man I called my friend."

"I am still that man," Neal said, his voice becoming louder as the anger and exhaustion of the day started taking away his control.

"I know you are, deep down, but the man who's been acting out since Kate's death is not you," said Mozzie. He had to get Neal to believe he was on his side. He was on Neal's side, but he couldn't let the man believe he was completely innocent. He did just come close to killing a man.

"Mozzie…"

"No," said Mozzie calmly, quietly, before he took a breath to steady himself, completely aware of his friend's gaze resting on him. "You're going down a road that I can't travel. This is getting out of control. Sneaking behind the Suit's back is fun once and a while, but completely shutting him out and attempted murder…I can't do that. There is no other way around this, Neal. You have to make a choice…now. You either have to lose this path of destruction or… or lose me." He couldn't believe he hesitated, but giving Neal an ultimatum was the hardest thing he had ever done. He wasn't sure how the forger was going to take this, but he wanted…no, needed Neal to confess that what he was doing was wrong. "The man I chose to follow would never hurt anyone. That man wouldn't even consider intentionally harming someone."

The two remained silent, Neal avoiding his friend's gaze as Mozzie searched the con's face for some sort of hint as to what he was thinking. "Moz, I…I'm just not the same. Not after all that's happened."

Mozzie couldn't help but shake his head. He was losing this fight and he could feel it. It was time to pull out the big guns. "Liar," he said harshly. "You are exactly the same or else you would have pulled the trigger when you had that gun pointed at the Fed's head. You haven't changed, but you're desperately trying to. You're trying to become the kind of person you hate most, the man that would rather do things the easy way by taking out his enemies than try to outsmart them. You're trying and failing, but I fear the day you no longer fail because once you hit that point, there is no turning back."

"You don't understand," said Neal as he headed for the kitchen, pulling a wine glass from the cupboard and pouring a full glass.

"No, I think it is you that doesn't understand," Mozzie said trying to calm himself once more. He was starting to realize that he may have taken on too Herculean of a task. "What you do, what 'we' do, it's dangerous and it is even more dangerous when you become that violent person. Any day, at any time, an enemy or cop could come blow us away and if you are willing to hurt someone it only makes it that much easier for the other person to pull that trigger or throw that fatal punch. It could all be over like that," he said snapping his fingers in emphasis of his point, "and if you don't realize that, you are just naïve."

Neal slammed his glass down on the counter. "So we're going over my age again?" he yelled defensively, turning on the other con. The mask was gone. "You know, you're not much older than me!"

"I never said I was," he said feeling his own mask beginning to tear in frustration, "which means I am not old enough to die, Neal. I have done everything you have asked for. I've helped Feds. I've risked my neck and for what?" Mozzie paused, regaining his composure before he continued. "I can't do this anymore."

"Then maybe you should mind your own business and I'll stop giving you an excuse to meddle in mine," said Neal venomously, moving to dining room table.

"Why did I even come?" said Mozzie out loud.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Neal coldly, looking up from the wine glass he was examining for cracks.

"I mean we keep having the same argument, and not just you and me, but you and the Suit, too," said Mozzie, finally letting the anger show. "You so desperately want revenge for Kate that you are missing the fact that in doing so, you will lose everything. You and Kate wanted to get out of the game; well you finally have your chance. You are getting everything you and Kate ever dreamed of! She would want you to be happy with your friends, your job, your life, hell even your makeshift family, but you are blinded by loss. You're willing to throw this all away for a girl who left to a place you can't follow, Neal. You have to let her go. Be sad she's gone, finally grieve and start to move forward."

"It's not the same without her!" yelled Neal. "Don't you get it?"

"Kate is dead, Neal!" yelled Mozzie, his anger finally winning. "She's dead and she's never coming back, but you are still here. Wake up and get it; you can't have her anymore! She's just as gone as when she left you to rot in prison!"

"…"

The shock on Neal's face made Mozzie realize what he had done. He thought he had been ready for anything his friend could throw at him, but he was wrong. He didn't know how to do this. Where did it go wrong and when did he allow the anger to overcome him. He never meant to say those things. "Neal…I…"

"Get out," said Neal quietly, his eyes filled with hurt and hatred, his face cold.

"Please, I didn't mean it." He had to fix this.

"Get out!" yelled Neal and Mozzie ran from the apartment in terror as he heard the wine glass shatter against the wall near the exit and his friend fall to the ground in sorrow. As he ran, he heard an agonized yell of anger and sorrow come from the apartment and echo throughout the house. He knew he had to fix this.

No, he was not that naïve. He knew what had happened tonight in this bitter battle.

Mozzie had lost his friend.

Neal pulled himself up from the floor and opened the fridge door, slamming it shut in frustration. He knew he was being childish, but he was angry and needed to do something, anything, to get rid of his anger. Mozzie had hit a sore spot, but he knew he was right. Moz and Peter had always been right. He had risked too much today and for what? A dead woman who had ran from him, not letting him help her in her time of need. He thought about his friend again, he had lost him. In their bitter fight, he probably lost one of his most loyal friends for good. He opened the fridge again, fully intending to slam it shut when he saw the bottle. Peter had left a couple beers in Neal's fridge so he had a "man's drink" to drink when he came to Neal's to work. Neal grabbed the bottle and pulled off the top, downing the half the awful concoction and grimacing at the appalling taste. He sank to the ground, feeling despair take over him as he slid down the wall and took another drink. What had he done?

Neal remained sitting on the floor for a while before Alex entered his apartment. He quickly placed the mask he always wore back on before she could see the toll Mozzie's words had taken on him and hid the now empty bottle in the gap between the fridge and wall. Anyone else, besides Peter, could have said those same words to him and he would have just let it go, nothing but a glancing blow, but from Mozzie…that was a kill shot. He knew he had over reacted and that he was going to need to talk to Mozzie again, if the little guy wasn't too afraid to talk to him after what Neal had done, that is. He continued talking with Alex when Peter literally busted through his door.

Why does everyone need to talk to me today? thought Neal. He wished everyone would just go so he could find Mozzie.

Then Peter told about the pawn shop manager and the security tape. Realization hit him like a freight train. "I wasn't the only one at the pawn shop," said Neal, not caring to hide the worried on his face.

"Who…Haversham," said Peter as he pulled out his cell and began barking orders. Diana left to get the car and Alex slipped out before more Feds showed up. Neal, however, was still in shock.

Mozzie's in trouble, he thought quickly. Where is he…? It's Thursday. If he's not here, he goes to the deli by the park for dinner. He would probably go there to think after this. It's 6:15, that means rush hour, too much traffic, too little time to explain.

Peter was standing in the door continuing to tell Jones what needed to be done. "Peter, Mozzie left here thirty minutes ago…" but Peter put his hand up to silence the young man as he continued to talk. Neal felt anger and worry well up in him. He had to find Mozzie; he didn't have time to wait for Peter. With panic starting to set in, he ran at the door and shoved past Peter, descending the stairs three at a time.

"Neal!" he could hear Peter yelling, but he didn't care, he had to find Mozzie. He hit the pavement at a dead sprint, gaining concerned looks as he ran by, but he didn't stop. He barreled down the street. His chest began to burn from lack of oxygen, but he didn't care. He had to keep going. He cut through the park, the people only a blur as he darted past. He was sure he probably ran into someone, but he honestly couldn't remember, the only thing that he could think of was that he had to get to Mozzie before whoever killed the pawnshop owner did.

Before he knew it, Neal found himself on the street across from the diner. He saw no panic in the area and released a sigh of relief. He made it. If he hadn't, someone would be calling 911, he would see frantic movement, but it was no different than the everyday hustle and bustle of New York life. Someone ran into Neal, nearly knocking him off his shaking legs. "Sorry," said the man gruffly. Neal felt instinctively wary him as he watched the short-haired man walk away down the street. He did seem in a bit of hurry though.

His mind snapped back to the task at hand and he began to head to the corner so he could cross to the diner at the crosswalk. He still felt the need to hurry as he jogged down the sidewalk. He around as he jogged, hoping to find his friend as quickly as possible and not wanting to miss him if he was trying to clear his head with some fresh air.

That was when he found him and physically hesitated. His heart stopped as he took in the sight of a small bald man lying still on one of the benches. "Mozzie!" he yelled as he found the strength to move and ran as fast as he could to his friend, kneeling in front of him. "Moz! Mozzie, talk to me!" said Neal, unable to hid the fear in his voice as assessed his friend's condition.

He felt the blood drain from his face and tears begin to flood his eyes as he took in the gunshot wound to Mozzie's chest.

"N...Neal?" came a weak, pained voice. Mozzie was barely conscious.

"Hey," said Neal, trying his best to hide his fear now that the man could hear him. No use making him panic more than he probably already was. "You're going to be alright." He turned around to the people who simply walked by, paying no attention to the man losing his life before them. "Someone call 911!" He saw a woman's face pale considerably as she immediately pulled out her cell phone.

"He shot me," Mozzie forced himself to say, "the one…who wants…music…"

"Shh," said Neal watching his friend's strength slowly leaving him. He had to stanch the bleeding, he knew that. He pulled off his tailored suit jacket and balled it up, turning Mozzie onto his back before applying pressure to the wound. "Just hold on, Moz, help is on its way."

The man only let out a pained groan at the pressure on his chest. Neal turned back to see if the woman was still on the phone. She was quickly coming over to him, running between the cars stopped in rush hour traffic. "They're on their way," she said breathlessly in panic over the injured stranger. "They said they would be here in fifteen or twenty minutes due to the traffic."

"That's not fast enough," said Neal as he watched Mozzie's eyes begin to close. "No, Moz, you have to stay here. Tell me about Gina, what was it about her that you loved so much?"

"B'ks," said the man groggily, his eyes closing and his breath becoming labored.

"What else?" Neal could hear the panic creeping into his own voice. It became even more apparent when the small conman didn't answer. "What else, Moz?" The man remained silent, his chest moving almost unnoticeably as his breaths became shallower and shallower. There was no way that ambulance was going to get there fast enough. Mozzie didn't have fifteen minutes and there was no way they were going to hurry for a dying conman.

But the FBI would rush if they had a running conman.

Neal knew what he had to do. He turned to the woman who was still kneeling next to him. "Do you have a scissors? A knife? Anything I can use to cut something relatively thick?"

The woman shook her head, eyes wide in fright. "No, I'm sorry."

Neal searched his mind for an answer until the idea finally came to him. He didn't like it, but he knew he was going to do it anyway. Mozzie's life depended on it and he couldn't lose the man. He couldn't lose his friend.

Not in this bitterness.

"I need you to keep the pressure on his wound," said Neal to the woman. She looked apprehensive, but nodded, quickly taking his place.

Neal got up and moved to a piece of the bench that Mozzie was not occupying. He lifted up his pants leg just enough to expose the anklet. It's up to you, Candy, thought Neal as he took a step back, preparing himself for what he was about to do.

"What is that?" asked the woman, the situation starting to get to her.

"The only way I can save my friend's life," said Neal. "Make sure he gets the first ambulance that gets here."

The woman saw the emotion in the young man's eyes, a mixture of sorrow, determination, and care. She nodded and looked away, unable to watch what she was sure was coming. "You have a good friend," she whispered to the stranger she was trying to save. "You have to make it through this for him. You are obviously very important to him."

Neal looked at the bench, aiming his shot as he knew he could only have one. Then, without giving himself the chance for a second thought, he kicked his ankle into the park bench as hard as he could. He could just make out the harsh cracking on plastic as the scream passed by his lips from, what he could only assume was, his now at least cracked ankle. He fell to the ground in pain and looked at his tracker, mentally smiling as he saw pieces of the device scattered on the ground, the lights completely dead. The marshals and FBI would be here any minute.

Guess I decided to lose the path, thought Neal as he looked over to where his friend was being tended to by the woman, because I can't break from the one that follows me. The pain became too much in his exhausted state and Neal allowed his mind to be taken by the darkness, the sounds of police sirens quickly approaching.

Peter charged through the hospital like a raging bull, eyes ablaze as metaphorical smoke billowed from his ears. This day couldn't possibly get any worse. After Peter had explicitly told Neal that he was supposed to stay at June's under house arrest, the conman decided to go on a little jaunt without telling anyone where he was going. He then, according to the rookie that had gotten stuck with suicidal task of reporting the incident to Agent Burke, somehow managed to smash his tracker to a hundred pieces before passing out. He hadn't been able to give any other details, however. After almost two hours in traffic, Peter had arrived at the hospital and was directed to the room where the forger was being held until the agent got there. When he walked in, he had been expecting the opportunity to yell at Neal, tell him how thin the ice was that he was walking on but quickly realized after a few moments of yelling that the bed in the room, as well as the handcuffs attached to its rails, was empty.

Now he was on his way back to the nurses' station to find out what was going on. He could feel the rage building in his chest as he got closer, just needing to yell to release it. However, he couldn't bring himself to take it out on the nurses at the desk. He knew it wasn't their fault and he had to believe that Neal had some reason for what he had done. The nurse smiled at him as he approached, but despite the fact that he did not blame them, he could not return it which caused her smile to quickly fade.

"Can I help you?" she asked hesitantly.

"I was told Neal Caffrey was in room 139, handcuffed to the bed," said Peter, desperately trying to keep his voice with minimal venom. "I was just at his room and he is not there. Where is he at?"

"Just a minute," she said typing into the computer. "It says he should be in 139. I will have the security guards start searching." She started to walk quickly away as if she was afraid Peter would explode.

"Wait," he said causing her to stop and look at him warily. Did he really look that bad? He hadn't slept the past couple days but he couldn't possibly look that terrible, could he? He decided to check his tone before beginning again. "Did anyone else come in around the same time he did?" They had been looking for Neal's paranoid friend at the time. Maybe…

No, he didn't want to think it.

"Yes, Agent Burke," said the nurse after looking inter the system again. "Another patient was brought in not long before Mr. Caffrey. A Dante Haversham." Peter felt his hair stand up on end at the mentioning of the bald man. "He's in ICU room 122. Are the two cases related?"

Peter felt the anger instantly melt from his body. "What…what was wrong with Mr. Haversham?" asked Peter, afraid of the answer.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said shaking her head. "Unless this has to do with an investigation and you have the proper paperwork, I can't tell you that."

"Please," said Peter, "Mr. Haversham is Caffrey's friend…and mine." The statement left his mouth before he could stop it. How is it that he had very few friends outside the other agents in his office, but two criminals had wormed their way into his heart? He hated conmen.

He saw the nurse look around to see if anyone is looking. When she saw there was no one around, she leaned across the desk toward the agent. "He came in with a single GSW to the chest." Peter felt his eyes become wide. It was worse than he thought. "It didn't look good, missed his heart by millimeters and there was quite some damage to his lungs. We got him to the OR and luckily he made it through the surgery. It was touch and go and he's still in critical condition, but he made it through the surgery. That's half the battle."

Peter was silent. Was that why Neal had destroyed his tracker, to get a quicker response? Nonetheless, he now knew where Neal was. "What room is Mr. Havarsham in?"

"Agent Burke…" she said exasperated.

"This time it does pertain to my consultant," said Peter. "Mr. Havarsham and Neal Caffrey are friends. I would bet money that my consultant is in Moz…Dante's room."

He saw a slight smile grace the young woman's face as she began to type on the computer again. "I wondered if he would try to go there, but I didn't think he actually would."

A confused expression crossed Peter's face. "Why did you think that?"

"Mr. Caffrey was conscious, but still pretty out of it when they brought him in here. He didn't agree with the morphine the EMT's gave him for the pain. Anyway, he was the one who told us Mr. Haversham's name. Kept asking where he was and how he was doing when he was the most aware. He seemed so worried about the little guy."

"Why'd you think he wouldn't go see him then?"

The young woman's face became solemn as she began to look at the chart that she had been holding. "The times when he didn't appear drugged were very short, only enough to ask for Mr. Haversham and ask how he was. During the rest of the time, well, it seemed as though their last encounter hadn't gone well."

Peter tried to think of the last time the two had talked. Maybe Neal was trying to run and that was why he broke his anklet. Maybe Mozzie had found him and tried to convince him to stay. There were too many possibilities and somehow, it had ended with the bald man being shot. What if Neal had done it? Peter felt a little ashamed to even let that idea cross his mind. Five hours ago, the thought wouldn't have even crossed his mind, but he had seen Neal stand with a gun in someone's face today and it was not an image he was going to be able to get out of his mind anytime soon. Nonetheless, he was almost sure Neal would ever hurt Mozzie, not intentionally anyway.

"Agent Burke?" asked the nurse.

"I'm sorry," said Peter, shaking his head to clear it from his thoughts, "I was…well…"

"Don't worry," she said with a sad smile. "I was just saying Mr. Haversham was in room E217. Just go down this hallway until you see the elevators and take them to the second floor. Then follow the signs to find it. If nothing else there is another nurses' station to the left of the elevators up there."

"Thank you," said Peter as he started to go down the hall.

"And Agent Burke," she called after him, causing the man to turn back for a moment, "don't be too hard on him. I can tell your angry, but trust me, he's punishing himself enough."

"Thank you, but I think I will make that decision for myself." Peter didn't mean to be rude, but he was tired, upset, and…worried. Neal was in the hospital, someone was probably after him, and if he was honest with himself, he wasn't sure he could keep the forger out of prison after what had happened with Fowler.

He followed the nurse's instructions and soon found himself in front of room E217, but he hesitated. Something seemed to be stopping him from going inside. Maybe it was the fact that Neal was most likely in there and Peter didn't want to face him right now. Maybe it was because the man being housed in this room had just been shot and might not make it. Maybe it was because deep inside he felt responsible for what was happening to both men and didn't want to have to look at either of them to feel that guilt. Nonetheless, he took a deep breath and prepared himself to enter because he knew that it would have to happen, so he went inside.

The sight before him made him wish he had decided to stay outside. The white hospital bed was hardly filled by a small, bald man. His usually pale skin was even more so from the blood loss despite the transfusion bag attached to his arm along with another containing some clear liquid. Most likely an antibiotic or morphine, thought Peter as he fought the urge to leave. The top half of his body was exposed, showing the world the white bandages that encompassed his chest, a red splotch slowly pushing its way to the surface near to location of the man's heart. His glasses were removed yet his eyes continued to fidget behind the closed lids. The most horrifying, however, was the tube running down the con's throat, a machine hissing as it pushed air into the sleeping man's damaged lungs.

Finally, attached to the man's hand was none other than Neal, a walking cast on his right leg. Peter felt the rage building in his chest again as he looked at the man, but his heart melted at the same time at the look in Caffrey's eyes. It was the same look that had been embedded in those eyes the day he had to send Neal back to prison when Kate died. Another piece of Neal was falling out of place and into the unknown.

"I didn't make it in time," said Neal, his dead voice breaking the silence but not looking at his partner. His eyes remained fixed on the man in front of him, listening intently to the heart monitory which served as the only indication that his old friend was still alive.

"Why aren't you in your own room?" asked Peter more harshly than he intended, but the young man didn't even flinch. Peter moved forward, but he still couldn't make himself move within arm's length of the young man. "Neal?"

"I tried," he continued as if there had been no interruption. "I ran as fast as I could, but I didn't make it."

"Is that why you took off like a bat out of hell?" asked the Agent, the young forger nodded. Peter remembered how Neal pushed him out of the way after he had put up his hand to silence the con. The anger slowly disappeared as the guilt crept back in at the thought.

"It's all my fault, Peter. I made this happen."

Peter was taken aback by that, so much that he almost took a step back. "Don't be ridiculous, you couldn't have known any of this was going to happen."

"I didn't know that it would," said Neal solemnly, closing his eyes in disgust with himself, "but I definitely knew that it could. I didn't think…I didn't care."

"Don't say that…"

"Either way it doesn't matter. The people around me are being targeted by someone and it's all because they're helping me."

"Stop it, Neal," said Peter taking another step forward. He really wished his partner would look at him. "Just stop it. You know as well as I do that you never meant this to happen. You didn't mean for anyone to get hurt."

"Since when did that matter." Peter was surprised by the coldness in his friend's voice. It was the same anger that he had heard in Neal's voice when he was pointing the gun at Fowler, but this time it seemed directed inward. "I'm getting people killed."

"You have to get that out of your head. This can't possibly be because of you…"

"Really, Peter, because it damn well looks that way," said Neal, squeezing Mozzie's hand so tightly it made Peter thankful the small man was still unconscious.

"Neal," said Peter calmly, trying to keep himself from yelling you're wrong and bringing the discussion to a halt, "it's not…

"Who's next, Peter? Huh? Who's next? You? El? Maybe June? Everyone I care about is being picked off in front of me and I am causing all of it." The man was now on his feet, faltering on the walking case only momentarily, yelling for all he was worth; his hands gesturing wildly. "I was supposed to be on the plane. Mozzie wouldn't be working on the Music box if I hadn't asked him. What next, June dies because I am living in her spare room!" Peter could feel his heart breaking, but it wasn't because of the words the young man was yelling. It was because of the sorrow filled tears that were tracking down his partner's face.

Neal Caffrey had finally found his breaking point.

"I drove him away, Peter," Neal continued to yell. "I yelled at him, fought with him, and scared him enough to make him leave tonight. He's never left because I was angry before! I ruined the one friendship I have left from my old life! I got the one person who understands my past shot. What am I gonna do if he doesn't make it, Peter?" The tears were making the young man's words almost unintelligible. "What am I gonna do?"

Peter couldn't stop himself. With two large quick steps he was in front of the young con artist and wrapped his arms around him. Neal tried to push the older man away, but Peter held him tightly, feeling this was the only way to express how sorry he was for the man. Peter could feel the tears prickling in his eyes as the forger finally gave up his struggles and fell into the agent, sobs wracking his entire body. "He's too young to die, Peter."

"Shh, it's alright," said Peter, smoothing down the man's brown hair in a feeble attempt to console him. "Everything's going to be alright."

Eventually, the sobs stopped and Peter released him. Neal felt like a fool. He had promised himself that he would never let anyone see him at that low of a point; never see him break.

"Come on, Neal," said Peter beckoning his young friend with his hand, there was no need to continue this argument tonight, "you've had a long day and I bet you're exhausted. Let's get you home."

"No, I am staying right here, until he wakes up."

"Alright," said Peter gently, "just promise me you'll get some rest." He responded with an absent nod as he sat back down at his old friend's side.

Neal could hear Peter opening the door to leave and he made a decision that he had long been thinking about. "I saw who did this," said Neal quietly, but loud enough for Peter to hear. He heard the door close, but knew that his partner had not left. "He was about six feet tall, average build, dark hair, brown eyes, wearing a worn, black leather jacket. Just another New Yorker." Neal closed his eyes as he felt the tears fill his eyes again. Mozzie's killer had been right there, he should have known better than to second guess his intuition. "He walked right into me and I didn't even notice. I didn't even try to stop him."

"There was nothing you could have done, Neal," said Peter as he placed a hand on the conman's shoulder.

"I…I need you to find him, Peter," said Neal as he looked at his injured friend, a tear cascading down his face. "I need you to find him and put him away. I can't do it, not this time. This time it needs to be done the right way."

"I promise," said Peter, conviction in his voice. "I will find him and make him pay."

"Thank you," said Neal.

"You should go back to your room and get some rest," said Peter, patting Neal's shoulder. "He'll still be here in the morning."

"I'm staying here until he wakes up," said Neal sadly. "I want to be here when my friend wakes up so he knows he's not alone; that we're ok."

"Alright, I'll come pick you up tomorrow."

"I'll still be here, I promise," said Neal before Peter gave him a sad smile and closed the door behind him as he left.

Neal looked back at his friend lying in the hospital bed and gave a slight smile. You knew how to save my life, Moz, thought Neal. He grabbed his bald friend's hand which was still slightly cold from blood loss. He looked at the respirator leading down Mozzie's throat and felt his eyes well with tears. Now I just wish that I knew how to save yours.

So there it is, my take on how things could have happened. I do feel I made Neal a bit of a crybaby at the end, but who's to judge a man in his shoes. I wanted to leave it the same way the show did, with Mozzie's outcome unknown. I personally hope the paranoid conspiracy theorist pulls through. Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome! Thanks for reading!