Well, I finally got round to it. This was never meant to be a long story, so this'll be the last chapter. I'm sorry it sucks.

Disclaimer: I don't own Neal or Peter, sadly.

Neal opened his eyes sleepily. He began to stretch, and winced at the pain it caused him. As he lay still, waiting for the spark of agony to fade, from the corner of his eye he caught sight of Peter, who was sprawled out on the chair next to him, snoring.

Neal smiled slowly, but it quickly faded - his chest hurt, his throat hurt, and his head especially hurt. He coughed lightly, and moaned in pain, as his chest and stomach both clenched.

"Neal?"

Peter was by his side in a split second. Neal was on the verge of panic now his head was clearing from the sleep. He could barely process anything, his limbs were heavy, and he ached. His lungs wouldn't fill properly. His lungs wouldn't fill. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe.

Neal started to panic, gasping for the breath his distress was stealing. His heart rate began to climb, and he was struggling to move. Peter caught hold of Neal's hand, and rested it on his partner's chest.

"Neal buddy, relax. It's alright. You're alright. Just breathe. Deep breaths. Little breath, come on now, that's it. Fill your chest. Breathe Neal. Breathe"

Neal obeyed Peter gradually, and his gasps turned to rough breaths again.

"There we go. Theeere we go"

Neal began to relax, his heart rate dropping. The stitch in his chest didn't fade, but Neal found he could breathe around it. He could breathe again.

Peter pulled his hand away from Neal's and patted him awkwardly on the back, before taking his seat again.

"Thank you, Peter," Neal said quietly.

"Anytime, buddy. So, you wanna tell me what happened?"

"Wow, Peter," Neal laughed. "Not even a minute to recover, and hello, here's the interrogation."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Neal, are you okay?"

"Yeah, but..."

"Then I guess you're good to answer my questions. What happened?

"Fine. So, I went in, and those two dealers were in a argument - a really big one, screaming at each other, and then out come the guns. I try to intervene, but one of the guests happens to be the son of a victim of one of the cons I /allegedly/ pulled. He threw me in."

Peter's eyes widened in shock.

"We sent you in there, without backup. You could have died. Neal, I'm sorry. I should have known better."

Swearing under his breath, Neal painfully propped himself up on his elbows. "Peter, it's fine. The guy just tossed me in the pool to scare me, I guess, and I hit my head on the side. He must have gotten scared about a longer prison sentence, so he ran."

Peter reluctantly met Neal's earnest blue eyes.

"Even so, I'm sorry."

Neal nodded, wincing, and lay down again. His head was throbbing like crazy.

"Y'alright?"

"Fantastic," he said through gritted teeth. Peter shuffled his chair nearer to Neal's bed, muttering a quick "sorry" when the scraping sounds make Neal jump. Peter watched as Neal took painful deep breaths, shifting uncomfortably every few seconds.

"It's alright, buddy," Peter repeated, and before he realised what he was doing, he was stroking Neal's hair back in an unconscious attempt to comfort him. If Neal hadn't been half-blacked out with pain, he might have objected, but at the moment, the action seemed to soothe him. Neal drifted off to sleep with the only person he could bring himself to trust right by his side, and he'd never felt more happy."