I should be focusing on the other story, but this idea just wouldn't leave me alone, so enjoy!

Please bear in mind it was very late when I wrote this, so not my best work.

Disclaimer; I wish they were mine, but sadly, they aren't

"FBI! DROP THE WEAPON!"

Diana's throaty voice rang out, causing a huge panic in the large living room. The thousands of house guests were screaming and running in all directions, vodka and wine bottles being thrown forcefully to the ground with large crashes. In the midst of the chaos, a scrawny man dressed in a vest and sporting a chunky gold necklace with a dollar sign had his Glock pointed directly down the barrel of a bald guy's similar weapon. Obviously the leaders of this feud, around five other thugs surrounded each leader. Upon hearing Diana's command, they swung round reluctantly, tossing their weapons with a clatter on the marble floor, and slowly raised their hands. FBI agents swarmed in, yelling at the scattering crowd of party guests.

At the edge of all this, Agent Peter Burke stood, his weapon raised.

"Neal? Neal!" he called, looking round for his CI, and getting increasingly worried.

They had sent Neal into the party, to scout round for the two rivals who were implicated in a huge drug plot the FBI had uncovered. Neal had managed to con his way past the menacing bouncer, and that was the last they had seen from the charming con-man. No feedback had come from his microphone, attached to his tie, so the bust had continued as normal, although they were a little confused over Neal's dead line of communication.

"Neal!" Peter yelled, getting even more concerned. He began to run across the room, searching for his CI. He looked in every part of the room, before going upstairs and checking every room, weapon in hand. In the last room, he ended up at the window. He glanced outside for a split second…and froze, a sick dread filling him. Peter whipped round and sprinted downstairs, shoving his gun into his waistband.

"Peter! What's wrong?" Jones shouted. Peter disregarded him, throwing open the patio doors, and jumping outside. He yanked off his jacket, threw his gun on the floor, and leapt in the turquoise pool, swimming furiously towards the dark shadow lying face-down in it's shimmering depths.

Peter finally reached Neal's body, and grabbing him with one arm, lapped to the edge of the pool. A crowd of FBI agents had gathered, confused, and as they realised who Peter had under his arm, collective gasps were emitted.

"Call 911!" Peter gasped, yanking him and Neal out of the pool, and lying the man down in front of him. Neal's eyes were closed, his chest completely still. The boy's expression was innocent, unguarded, and it was getting to Peter. He began to perform CPR on Neal, pushing in his chest and breathing into his mouth.

"C'mon Neal, c'mon," he muttered as he did it.

After three agonising minutes of this, Neal began coughing, spitting water everywhere. Peter almost collapsed with relief, and pulled Neal into a bone-crushing hug. Neal weakly patted his tense partner on the back, and Peter smiled, letting go of Neal and allowing him to cough the water from his lungs. The liquid had crystallised on Neal's eyelashes, giving him a child-like aura, and as water droplets sprayed everywhere, Peter reached forward and gently caught a tear-like drop as it ran down his C.I's face. Neal's eyes met Peter's, his gaze intense.

His eyes are so blue thought Peter, frowning at the surge of love he felt for Neal.

The EMT's arrived, and strapped Neal to the gurney.

Before they loaded him into the ambulance, Neal grabbed onto Peter's tie, and pulled him close.

"Neal?" he asked, worried.

Neal took a deep breath, staring at Peter for a few more minutes, before leaning up a little, and whispering;

"M..my hat.."

Peter laughed, slapping Neal on the shoulder, and climbed into the vehicle next to him.

If I get more than 5 people reviewing to tell me to write more, I shall :3