Peter sighed. Physically he was sore and bruised. But if it weren't for the headache from cracking his head on a wall, he'd have gone to work. His spirit was low too. He'd witnessed a man killed right in front of him, only steps away.

There was a knock at the door.

Elizabeth answered it. "Hey Diana."

"Hi. How's Peter?"

"Peter wants the monster with the hammer to leave his head alone." The sore agent grumbled.

"I brought you a get well card."

Elizabeth took it from her and showed it to Peter. "Everyone in the office signed it."

"Everyone?" Peter asked, looking at Diana, sadly. "How's..." he hesitated.

"Neal? He's getting his work done. He's not even driving us crazy." She didn't add that she almost wished he would. That would be normal for Neal.

"They caught the driver." Elizabeth said suddenly. "She was high on something and nearly killed herself in the process of fleeing the NYPD."

"Well, at least she's off the street. I'll feel better knowing that." Diana said.

Peter took the card from Elizabeth. "Thanks for this."

"Anytime boss. Really. Get better soon." Diana left.

Elizabeth sat next to Peter. He sighed deeply. He dealt with death occasionally as a White Collar agent. But rarely did it happen so senselessly in front of him. Hit and run. And in spite of that, underneath the pain of what he'd seen and the physical pain, another kind of hurt festered.

"I really let him down, El."

"I'm surprised he's stayed away, knowing your hurt."

Peter just shook his head. "He holds me to a higher standard than he holds himself."

"He looks up to you." She sighed.

"I'd just feel better if I knew Sam was who he claimed."

"I would too."

"Do you want me to read you what's on this card to save your head from reading?"

"Please."

She read the well wishes and signatures and when she was done, wished she hadn't. There was one missing. She knew Peter noticed.

Peter sighed again. "Let me see it."

She held it out. He stared at it, blinked repeatedly. The image showed a plain, ink drawing of an empty desk with a mug.

"I'm going to check on dinner." Elizabeth rose and went to the kitchen.

Peter waited until she'd turned her back, rose and went to a nearby drawer. He pulled out a magnifier and studied the drawing. His head pounded and his vision blurred. Frustrated, he rubbed his eyes. Then he saw it. Tucked into the cross hatching on the drawn desk were letters. The mug had 'GWS' on it instead of FBI. And tucked into the bottom corner of the desk as if hiding were the initials NC.

"El."

"Peter. The last thing you need is to be picking apart a greeting card with a magnifier."

"Look." He handed it to her and pointed.

She looked up at him. "It's almost like he's hiding it."

"Yeah." Peter stared at it.

"But it's there."

"Yeah. It's there."

"Get Well Soon instead of FBI on the mug." She smiled. "A turtle might've been as appropriate."

"A turtle?"

"He's retreated into a shell. All you can see are the eyes."

"Glaring at me and snarling. Do turtles snarl?"

"They snap. He's snarling or snapping get well soon." She smiled faintly. "And obviously he drew it."

"I have a feeling he was challenged to draw it."

"But they couldn't make him draw it, let alone sign it."

"So what do I do?"

"Be patient and let him know your sorry. Deep down, he knows your trying to help."

"He thinks I don't trust him enough."

"Mozzie doesn't trust him to think straight with it either."

"And if Mozzie agrees with me, we should be looking for the four horseman of the apocalypse."

She hugged him. "I'm going to put dinner on the table."

"Be there in a minute."

Peter stared down at the card. He felt a sudden echo of reversed deja vu. This lonely ache he felt, was this how Neal had felt when he'd jumped on him for stealing the treasure? Frozen him out? He was knew now that Mozzie had instigated it, that Neal, at the time he was accused and undergone the lie detector had honestly been hurt and surprised. After all, he really hadn't had time to go after it. And afterward he would've been in the awkward spot of betraying on of his closest friends if he told. Peter may not approve the choice, but he did understand. He had hurt Neal then too. And he hadn't realized how bad until now. Neal had wanted to stay because of him. How badly was he hurting, now, to tell Peter he was done with him and his friendship?

He stared at the almost invisible signature of his friend. He hurt for Neal. He was angry with himself for jumping to conclusions even knowing it was for the best of reasons. But he held onto those tiny initials as a sign. Their friendship was diminished, shrunk and hidden. But it wasn't gone completely. The hurt would ease. He had to believe that. He wouldn't give up on his friendship, even if Neal claimed he did.

"I'm here when your ready, Neal." He murmured softly.

Elizabeth waited until Peter returned to work a couple of days later before she followed through on her idea. She got a greeting card with a dog painting on the front, blank on the inside. Then she took Satchmo outside with art and craft supplies. "Okay Satch. I need your help."

She dropped her project off early the next day with June. "Please, don't tell him where it came from. He's so upset with us right now he might not even look first."

June sighed. "I can tell he's hurting." She looked up at Elizabeth. "You don't have kids."

Elizabeth shook her head. "We don't have kids and we did have relatively normal family lives growing up. I think how strong Neal feels about this blindsided us a bit. It's not just about Ellen..."

"No. It's something that's always been there. I'll put it in his apartment. And no, I won't tell him where it came from. I appreciate you not giving up on him."

Elizabeth smiled faintly. "He's worth the fight." And as she left, she wondered if she meant that in more ways than she could fathom.

Neal returned home from a day of mostly avoiding Peter at the office. He was puzzled by the package on the table. First aid kit? Why would anyone send him that? And an envelope lay on top. He picked it up. His name was on it in blocky uneven letters like kid print. He pulled out a card. Studying the front, which was decent art, but told him nothing, he flipped it open. He dropped in the nearest chair, blinking quickly. A black paw print, clearly a real paw in ink, not art, was the signature. A sticker of a sad dog and a ball were on the left. The simple message was "I get mad too. But they are only human after all. Please come back and play someday. Tell me what else you need to get patched up. I'll get it."

Neal's breathing quickened. He clenched it till it rumpled thinking about tearing it up. He dropped the card, rose, stepped back, circled the room and stared back at the card on the table. Tears blurred his vision and his lips tightened. He swallowed, fighting the odd urge to laugh. He was torn between grief and anger. He was glad no one was around to see. The hurt and confusion rose inside. Finally he picked up the card and studied the paw print. He sighed and dropped the stuff in a drawer. But after a moment he went back, pulled the card out and tucked it into the back of the book he was reading. "Well...I guess I'm not really mad at Satch..." He told himself. And knew even as he said it that he was conning himself. No matter how mad he was, he still needed to know Peter and Elizabeth cared. And he still cared about them. "Thanks Satchmo." He said shaking his head, and letting amusement override the pain for the moment. "I needed that."