"Nice work, Jones," Peter said, clapping him on the shoulder,though his gaze was fixed on Neal.

"Let's get to Jimmy." Peter could tell from the determination in Jones's voice that he was worried about his friend. I know the feeling, he thought as he watched Diana help Neal up off the floor.

One look at Neal's pale face told Peter definitively what he needed to do next; he mumbled a quick, "Go get him," to Jones - who quickly took off up the stairs to locate the missing man - and jogged over to his partner.

"Thanks, Diana, I think I've got it from here," he said, sending her a grateful look; after a moment's hesitation, Diana nodded and gave Neal a reassuring pat on the shoulder before turning to go after Jones.

Peter immediately moved one hand to where Diana's had been on Neal's back and slipped the other around his shoulders. "You sure you're okay, Neal?" The stricken expression on the younger man's face worried him more than he would have admitted aloud.

"Just a little shaky," Neal replied as he tried to smile, although it didn't reach his eyes. "Must be all the adrenaline. Remind me to try getting chased by a madman with a crossbow next time I need a pick-me-up in the morning. Or, on second thought, don't."

Just as Peter was reassuring himself that Neal must be okay if he was up to making jokes, Neal attempted to take a step toward the stairwell, and his knees buckled under him. In perfect tandem, Neal clutched at the front of Peter's suit to steady himself just as Peter tightened his grip around his partner's shoulders.

"Easy, Neal, I've got you," Peter said quietly, although he secretly suspected he needed the reassurance as much as Neal did. A sudden realization hit him, and he asked, "Can you walk?"

"Apparently not," Neal deadpanned automatically.

"You know what I mean, Neal," Peter said impatiently, ignoring the sarcasm. "Getting away from Van Horn must have required some pretty creative moves, and you don't seem to be putting any pressure on your right ankle. Did you hurt it trying to get away from him?"

"Well, put it this way, I don't think hurling myself across this room to avoid getting hit by an arrow helped it any."

"Here, put your weight on me," Peter said, shifting to get a better grip on Neal, who obligingly wrapped his arms around Peter's neck.

When Peter tried guiding him into taking a step forward, however, Neal grimaced and tightened his hold on Peter.

"Neal?" Peter asked with a sigh, very much afraid of the answer to his next question. "Do you...do you need me to carry you?"

"No, I'm fine, Peter. I...I can walk," Neal tried to assure him, but his tone sounded thoroughly unconvincing.

"Come on, then," Peter said, rolling his eyes and hoisting Neal into his arms. He had walked halfway down the hallway before he looked down again and was surprised to see Neal grinning like a fool.

"Neal..." Peter said, his tone suspicious and questioning.

"Yes, Peter?" Neal asked, looking up at him as innocently as he could manage considering he was Neal.

"Please tell me that you didn't lie to me about that ankle just so I would pick you up," Peter said, with a sinking feeling that was, in fact, exactly what had happened.

"Peter, I said that I would never lie to you, and I meant it," Neal replied seriously, but his mouth quirked up into a mischevious smile as he admitted, "But...I did also say that sometimes, I may let you draw certain conclusions that aren't correct."

"This is one of those times, isn't it?" Peter asked dryly.

"I mean, come on, can you blame me?" Neal asked incredulously. "How could I turn down the opportunity to live out a fantasy I've had since I was a ten year old kid watching An Officer and a Gentleman?"

"You wanted to be Deborah Winger when you were ten?" Peter asked, equally incredulously.

"My father was none too pleased," Neal noted, adding with a sly grin, "Of course, in more recent versions of this fantasy, you're wearing the uniform...but I'll take what I can get."

"And what exactly is preventing me from dropping you right now?" Peter asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Come on, Richard Gere, where's your romantic streak?" Neal asked. His eyes suddenly lit up and he added, "Here, this will make it perfect." With a flourish, he removed his officer's cap and placed it jauntily on Peter's head.

"This is quite possibly the most absurd thing I have ever done in the whole of my life," Peter said, but he, too, was grinning as he continued to carry Neal down the hallway.

Suddenly, from somewhere a small way's away, Peter heard a few piano chords and the sound of a woman beginning to sing. He turned his head to see an old janitor in the distance, thankfully too preoccupied with mopping the floor to notice the odd sight of an FBI agent carrying a man in dress whites down the hallway. On his cleaning cart, a small radio was blaring out a tune that seemed oddly familiar to Peter.

As the song neared its chorus, and a man's voice joined with the woman's, Peter turned back toward Neal in astonishment. "You can't have - not even you could manage this."

"What are you-" Neal started to ask, but stopped as he heard the sound of the two singers telling each other, "Love lifts us up where we belong," echoing down the hallway.

It took nearly a minute for Neal to stop laughing and remark, "Clearly, it must be a sign."

"A sign of what, may I ask?" Peter asked sarcastically, "The universe enabling your manipulative fantasies?"

"Oh, please don't be mad," Neal pleaded with him. "What can I do to make it up to you?"

"Well," Peter said thoughtfully, "You do have that uniform for the rest of the night..."

At Neal's surprised laugh, he added mischeviously, "What? You're not the only one with fantasies, you know."

"Why Agent Burke, you never fail to surprise me," Neal remarked appreciatively.

"It's Gere," Peter corrected, "Richard Gere. And don't forget, Neal, you may be an officer for the day, but I - I am always a gentleman."

At the incredulous look Neal shot him, as if reminding Peter of his recent comment about the uniform, Peter amended his statement, eyes twinkling, "Well...maybe not always."