Author's Notes: A huge thank you to Ansel, who so kindly proof-read the story. This story is posted today in honor of the Burke-Caffrey Day !

If Anything Were to Happen to You

Prologue

He is on the shore of the Hudson River, alone in the empty space. It's cold, very cold. There is no sun and the atmosphere is grey and thick, surreal. Very few sounds are coming from the city. Everything seems muffled and blurry.

A man is standing in the distance. Neal cannot see his face clearly, yet, he knows who this is. This is James Bennett, his father. Contrary to the few other times they met, James is wearing a dark, tailored suit, and a fedora. Dressed like this, he looks just like Neal. He is an exact copy of Neal. For some reason, this realization gives Neal a chill. Under the shadow of the hat, all Neal can see are sparkling and cold blue eyes, and he wonders for a second if his eyes are that cold too. There are so many things Neal would like to talk to him about, so many questions he wants – needs – to ask. At least, Neal would like his father to look at him, but James doesn't seem to notice his presence.

Facing James, stands Peter. Neal doesn't know how Peter got there. He doesn't remember seeing him arriving at the scene. Face closed, his expression is unreadable. Neal knows that doesn't mean good for his interlocutor. He is wearing his favorite suit, a white shirt, but no tie. Neal frowns. That doesn't make sense. He doesn't see any badge attached to his belt either. Neal feels an uneasiness slowly falling down upon him. There is something wrong with this image of Peter.

Like James, Peter seems absolutely oblivious of Neal's presence. His attention is totally directed toward James. They are watching each other from a respectful distance.

Neal would like to come closer, but he doesn't seem to be able to move. He wants to call, but no sounds are coming from his mouth. He stays where he is, watching from a distance, outside the scene happening in front of him.

Neal refocuses his attention on his father – and his heart skips a beat. James is now pointing a gun directly at Peter. He is holding the deadly weapon with both hands, determined not to miss his target. Neal feels it, knows it. His father is about to shoot. The fear is compressing his chest. He tries to reach out for Peter, but he is paralyzed. He screams but no one hears.

There is no sound, but there is no doubt. The bullet hits Peter in the chest. The impact makes Peter stagger and he takes one step back, trying to regain his balance. Neal is now overwhelmed by fear and incomprehension. How can this be happening? Why didn't Peter react to the sight of the gun? Why didn't he shoot back? Why doesn't he have his gun?

Peter's legs give in, and he starts to fall, slowly, as if in slow-motion. His fall seems to last forever and a heavy weight crashes Neal's chest as he watches his friend go down.

Peter is lying on the ground, and Neal is at his side. Blood. There is blood everywhere. Peter's blood. It's coming from Peter's chest. Neal presses his hands on the wound, but the blood doesn't stop pouring out. Neal feels it pooling under his palms, leaking between his fingers. It is thick and warm. The blood is a shade of scarlet that reminds Neal of one particular paint he loves. It has the same shine. For a moment, Neal's thoughts drift toward a more peaceful scene of him at his easel, painting. But the paint is all red, red like Peter's blood and instantly he is back at his partner's side.

Neal looks at his face. Strangely, he doesn't seem to be in pain. Neal catches Peter's glance. All he can read in his friend's eyes is sadness and disappointment. Neal cannot detach his eyes from that look. He can see the accusation, and he knows Peter is right and he, Neal, is wrong, even though he cannot remember exactly why. He can't think clearly. The guilt twists his stomach, the despair crushes his lungs. He can't breathe. His head is spinning. All he can see are Peter's eyes, and red. Everything is red.

Suddenly he hears a voice. It's Peter's. But it doesn't fit. There is no anger. On the contrary, it's full of joy, and relief.

"So damn good to see you…"