Hey everyone! Sorry this took so long. I've been SO busy. Tons of homework, studying for tests, and I also made the JV softball team, so that takes up a lot of my time. Anyway, This will be the last chapter of this story, but don't worry. There will be a sequal...one of these days...Bear with me, guys. This is difficult for me too. Also, sorry this is a short one.
~Erika

"You can forget it," Peter said firmly. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Me either," Emily agreed, folding her arms resolutely over her chest.

"Look," the first cop, slowly lowering his arm, said. "You two," he gestured to Taylor and Radkey, "can stay here and get him ready to move. But any non-essentials need to get out of here now, let's go."

With that, his partner went to Emily, and began guiding her to the filing cabinet, above which there was yet another cop waiting to pull her out. Emily fought him with all her strength, but her broken ankle wasn't helping her case.

"Neal!" she cried desperately, struggling to get free. She was no match for the stronger, able-bodied officer. Neal looked at her, wide-eyed, from his place on the ground, but didn't say anything. The first cop began advancing towards Peter.

"You touch me," Peter warned, "and I swear to God, you will be the one on their way to the hospital, not Neal."

The officer hesitated, taking in the vicious look in Peter's eyes and knowing he was completely serious.

"Peter," Neal gasped. Immediately, Peter turned his full attention to his friend. "Go. I don't...I don't want you getting hurt..."

"I'm not going anywhere, Neal," Peter said firmly, shooting a rabid glare at the officer before him, who was still debating whether or not he should take his chances with the wounded agent. Behind him, his partner had already succeeded at pulling Emily away from the scene.

The tiniest of smiles pulled at Neal's lips, and he let out a half-chuckle. "And you tell me I'm stubborn," he criticized. Peter smiled back worriedly.

Eventually, the cop accepted that he was never going to be able to make Peter leave, and got himself the hell out of there. Hughes and Diana were forced away from the edge as everyone was evacuated from the area. Peter saw the chloride slowly trickling into their room, and still Neal was not ready to move. Peter stared at the liquid gradually advancing toward them, his gaze worried. When he finally looked back at Neal, his concern and worry was kicked into high gear.

Neal was growing weaker rapidly as Taylor secured a brace around his neck. His eyes were beginning to close. His skin was chalky and white. His breaths were getting weaker. He was dying, and Peter knew it.

"Neal," he said, getting the consultant's attention as the pair of medics removed the less severe shrapnel from his body. Neal forced his eyes open a little bit to look at him. "Neal, stay with me, ok? Just stay with me. Promise me you won't let go, ok? Promise me, Neal."

Neal nodded shakily. "I promise," he gasped shortly.

"Good," Peter nodded. He turned his attention to the medics. "How're we doing?"

"We need a few more minutes before we can even consider moving him," Taylor told him as he moved the plastic stretcher he had been given into position beside the broken conman.

"Well you better go faster," Peter warned. "That chloride's getting closer fast."

Taylor and Radkey nodded, beginning to work faster. Peter turned back to Neal. For the next three minutes, as the chloride continued to creep closer and closer, the FBI man tried to keep his friend engaged. But by then, he had begun to smell the fumes, and he was coughing like crazy. He breathed into his sleeve and tore off a piece of his ruined shirt, placing it gently over Neal's nose and mouth in an attempt to filter out the fumes.

Another minute passed. The chloride was now six inches away from Neal's bare foot. Peter was getting more and more anxious. Finally, Taylor spoke up.

"Ok, I think we can move him now," he said through his sleeve. He and Radkey gently pulled all of Neal's broken limbs in to his body, so he was lying flat with his arms at his side. Neal cried out in pain, the sound muffled by his makeshift air filter.

"Alright, Peter," Taylor said, locking eyes with the agent. "I need you to support his head. We're going to move him on three, ok?"

Peter nodded, quickly moving into position. He took a deep breath of fresh air, and then used both hands to cradle Neal's bleeding head.

"One, two, three," on the last count, the three men picked Neal up and placed him on the plastic stretcher. Peter's arm flew to his face and he gasped in air, coughing against the fumes as Taylor strapped Neal in to the yellow plastic board.

"Burke!" Peter heard Hughes shout his name from somewhere up ahead. "Burke, you gotta get out of there now! That chloride's gonna blow any second!"

By then, Neal was strapped in, and the medics were ready to go.

"Alright," Peter said to them. "You two get Neal out of here, ok? I'll be right behind you."

"Agent Burke, you're hurt!" Radkey protested. "You should go first."

"We don't have time to argue about this!" Peter snapped. "Go! Get him out of here!"

Taylor and Radkey hesitated for only a moment or two, then each of them grabbed a side of the stretcher and, on the count of three, stood up, lifting Neal with them. They carried the injured conman over to the filing cabinet. Keeping Neal as level as they could, they climbed up on top of it and lifted Neal up over their heads, placing him on the solid ground above them. Then the two of them climbed up and out.

Peter jumped when he heard a loud woosh. Suddenly, a line of flame was headed right for him. In a split second, Peter realized that there was a line of chloride in front of the filing cabinet. If it ignited, Peter would be trapped. The agent ran forward and leapt onto the filing cabinet. Seconds later, the chloride was in flames. Peter took a moment to calm down from his near-miss, and then climbed out of the burning room. Taylor and Radkey had already begun to load Neal into the ambulance as he raced for safety. When he reached the line of emergency vehicles, he stopped and doubled over, breathing hard, gripping his stab wounds in pain.

"Burke," Hughes was suddenly at his side. Jones, who had been ordered to stay by the cars when they arrived in hopes of keeping the wounded man out of harm's way, and Diana looked on worriedly. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Peter said firmly. He lowered himself onto the back of the second ambulance as the one containing Neal sped off. Emily was nowhere to be found; Peter guessed she had already been taken to the hospital. The truth was he was definitely not fine, but he didn't want them to waste time worrying about him. "Where's Detective Byrne?"

"He's already been taken to the hospital," Hughes told him. "And I want you to join him; you need to get yourself checked out."

"I'm fine," Peter said firmly.

"That's an order, Burke," Hughes said sternly. "We'll meet you at the hospital."

Peter hesitated, then sighed and climbed inside the ambulance he sat on. Two paramedics were waiting for him. In minutes, they were off.

Detective Byrne woke up slowly. His eyes didn't want to open. He was still so tired. But eventually, he managed to pry them open and look around.

"There he is," Byrne looked to the side, blinking to clear his blurry vision, and saw Ryan sitting in a chair by his side.

"Welcome back, buddy," his partner grinned. "How're you feeling?"

"Fantastic," Byrne muttered sarcastically, shifting painfully. "What happened?"

"Your cover was blown," Ryan explained. "Burke got you out of there just before the place got blown to hell."

"How is Burke?" Byrne asked, his memory starting to come back in pieces.

"He's going to be fine," Ryan assured him. "A fractured wrist, a couple non-critical stab wounds—all things considered, he was lucky."

"What about Neal and Emily?" Byrne demanded. "Are they ok?"

"Emily's fine," Ryan said quickly, trying to calm his friend down, "just a broken ankle and a sprained wrist."

"And Neal?" Byrne pressed.

Ryan hesitated, then sighed. "He's still in surgery," he admitted. "I haven't heard anything yet."

Byrne nodded, processing the information.

"Well, this has been fun, man," Ryan smiled. "But I think there are some people who would like to see you."

Byrne blinked, confused, as Ryan stood up and went to the door, pulling it open and leaning out. Seconds later, a six-year-old boy with his father's eyes dashed into the room.

"Daddy!" He cried excitedly, climbing up on Ryan's chair to give his father a hug. It hurt like hell, but Byrne didn't care. With tears in his eyes, he hugged his son tightly.

"Hey, Kyle," he said happily, the sound muffled by his son's t-shirt. He looked up to see his wife standing beside him. Without a word, Byrne reached out and pulled her into the hug as well.

"We were so worried about you," Alyssa whispered in her husband's ear.

"I know," Byrne said softly. "And I'm sorry. But I promise, I'm never going to put you two in that position again. I promise."

Alyssa just nodded, at a loss for words.

Ryan looked on in silence for a moment, smiling to himself. Then, silently, he slipped out of the room to give the newly reunited family some time alone.

Peter looked through the window at Neal's still-unconscious form. Dr. Stevens, whose wife did in fact have a baby the day he disappeared, stood beside him.

"He's going to be fine, Peter," the doctor assured him. "They were able to get all the shrapnel out without difficulty. The only head trauma he received was very minimal. He's going to be fine."

"You're sure?" Peter pressed.

"I am sure," Dr. Stevens nodded.

Peter sighed. "Ok, thanks, doc," he said finally. Stevens nodded slightly and walked off. Seconds later, Hughes came up to him.

"How's he doing?" Hughes asked.

"He'll be fine," Peter said with a sigh. "The doc said the sedative will wear off in a couple of hours."

"Good," Hughes said sincerely. Then he sighed, "I'm just glad this is all over." Hughes started to walk off.

"But it's not over, Hughes," Peter said after a heartbeat or two. Hughes stopped and looked at him.

"What do you mean?" the older agent asked.

"Neal and I are back, yes," Peter sighed, not taking his eyes off Neal. "But the people who took us aren't the ones who put Neal in the hospital to begin with."

Hughes slowly started walking back toward his colleague. "And why do you think that?"

"Oh, come on, Hughes," Peter scoffed. "They wanted Neal because they saw him as an asset. Why would you run your potential asset down with a car?"

Hughes was silent, realizing that Peter was right.

Peter looked in at his unconscious friend with worry and pity in his gaze. "We may have won this battle, more or less," he said gravely, "but the war has just begun. We still have no idea who tried to kill Neal in the first place."

"I'm going to kill you, you son of a bitch!" Neal stared into the deep, dark, rage-filled pools, and terror shot through him to his core. He was frozen in his tracks. "I don't care how long it takes, or how far you run, or what dark rock you decide to hide under, I will find you, and I will kill you! You can't hide forever." Neal forced himself to look away and start walking, turning his back on the furious words.

"I will kill you, do you hear me? As soon as you stop looking over your shoulder, I will find you, and I will kill you!"