Peter

He replays that moment again and again: himself, frozen on the steps; Kramer right in his face; and just over Kramer's shoulder, Neal, strolling into view with that stupid hat on his head, just as Peter's seen him stroll a thousand times.

Peter's eyes locking on Neal's, a slight headshake, trying to convey: Go.

Comprehension in Neal's eyes, tinged with alarm. Then—

Peter slams his fist on the desk. Dammit, Neal! I didn't mean "go all the way to Tahiti," or Hawaii, or wherever the hell—

He leans his forehead on his hand.

I didn't mean, throw it all away.