"hugesg1fan" (and followers) asked for Neal to have the surgery and be mother-henned to death by Elizabeth. It seems that I cannot resist a prompt…

Okay, so here it is. Neal will make it through alive (barely).

Beta by MAM711 (thanks!)

Neal pushed the glass door to the White Collar office open. Diana and Jones were discussing a file at her desk. They raised their heads and smiled hello, immediately going back to the screen they were watching. Peter was coming down the stairs from his office, a smile on his lips.

"Hello, Neal! Right on time."

"I usually am," the con man answered with a smile.

"Keep your hat; we're going out," Peter said, pushing the door to the hall.

"New case?"

"Yes." Peter pushed the button to call the elevator.

"Care to share?" Neal asked when Peter remained silent.

The doors of the elevator opened with a chime.

"We've been contacted by the CEO of the St. Clair Clinic. He found financial irregularities in the accounts and he thinks there's some sort of scam going on with the patients. It would seem somebody is charging for treatments that do not make it to the clinic's accounting.…

"A doctor asking for extra payments in cash?"

"Maybe. We need to do some digging." Peter looked at Neal. "How's your shoulder?"

Neal frowned, surprised at the non sequitur. It had been several weeks since his accident. Peter had stopped asking him how he was feeling, taking it for granted that he was fully recovered.

"Fine."

"No… let me rephrase that," Peter answered, staring at him. "Wouldn't you like to have a doctor's opinion, say, as… a follow-up?"

Neal smiled in understanding. "Actually, now that you mention it, I kind of feel it when I'm swimming on my back…"

"Okay then, let's go see a doctor," Peter replied with a wink.

They left the FBI building and entered Peter's car. On the way, he gave some additional information to Neal. "Our prime suspect is a doctor with a private consult on 7th Avenue."

"If he has private clients, it's going to be difficult to trace the payments." Neal frowned, trying to think how they would follow the invoices.

"Not when the surgery is done at the clinic."

"So we're seeing a surgeon?"

"Yes."

"How come I haven't been involved in this case so far?" Neal asked. "I have no background on this; you're not making it easy for me, Peter."

"I needed you on the forgeries case. Jones and Diana have been working on this case for weeks now with our financial geeks. You'll catch up. Anyway, I'm doing the interview; you're just my excuse."

They had arrived to the building and Neal grumbled a little as he got out of the car. He didn't like working with no information.

They entered an upscale building housing very select offices and went to the elevators. They were admitted into a nice waiting room. It was still early in the morning; nobody else was there. Neal entertained himself by looking at the watercolors on the walls. He caught Peter looking at him.

"What? Only looking. I do like art, you know."

The secretary telling them they could enter the doctor's office saved Peter from an answer. A man in his fifties, with a nice white coat over an expensive suit, rose to greet them.

"Ah, Mr. Caffrey, I'm glad you could make it."

Neal opened his eyes wide and looked at Peter. The agent was the picture of innocence. Neal frowned and looked back at the doctor, then at the desk. There was a file with his name on it.

"Peter?" he asked, a bit on edge, not knowing what was going on.

"Yes, Neal?" Peter said, still radiating innocence.

"What are we really doing here?" His voice was rising now.

Peter didn't answer but couldn't help a smug smile on his face. Neal frowned as he understood.

"This was a setup?" he asked. He scrunched his eyes, gritting his teeth. "Well done, you conned the con man; I should probably congratulate you.…"

"I had the best teacher," Peter explained, still pretty proud of himself. He could tell Neal was really mad, or he would be the one wearing the smug smile now.

The doctor was silent. Peter had seen him before to explain the problem.

Once Neal was free of the sling and back to work, he had made it clear that he wouldn't have the surgery. Mozzie and Elizabeth had tried to persuade him repeatedly. At some point Neal had left the Burke's house, banging the door, complaining that he could make his own decisions and if they weren't happy with it they might as well send him back to prison. Neal had apologized for his outburst, sending Elizabeth a huge bouquet of flowers, and around beers one evening on the terrace, Peter had agreed not to broach the subject again.

But Peter being Peter, he could not not worry, so he had done some research and talked to his own doctor, then to a specialist. The different conversations made it clear that surgery was not really optional. That was when Peter decided to take matters into his hands and force a meeting with the surgeon. He was hoping that once the real risks of leaving his shoulder as it was had been explained to him, Neal was smart enough to realize the necessity and cave in. He wasn't very proud of having to fool him to get him to the appointment, but it was for Neal's own good. Peter had met with the doctor and explained Neal's reluctance to undergo the surgery. He had taken care of all the legal documents, including insurance and costs, and the surgeon had agreed to set up an appointment to meet Neal to discuss the problem.

The surgeon came forward now. He had a soft voice and spoke gently, keeping a reassuring distance from Neal. He gestured to a chair and went to sit behind his desk.

"Mr. Caffrey, since you are here, why don't you please sit down? Let me explain the facts to you; in the end, it will be your decision. You can leave through that door anytime you wish."

"Neal, I can leave if you'd prefer," Peter said softly.

Neal let his shoulders drop, defeated, and sat on the chair. "No, you can stay. You staged all this; the least I can do is let you enjoy it."

"Neal, I—" Peter started to apologize, but Neal stopped him with his hand.

"Peter, just sit, please. Doctor, I'm all ears."

The doctor took his time explaining the reasons why the surgery was needed, answering every question Neal had, clarifying the recovery time, the risks at delaying it much further. Peter kept silent; Neal had to make the decision and battle whatever inner demons made him hate hospitals so much.

Having been given the necessary information, they left the doctor's office and went back to the FBI building. Neal had yet to say a single word since the appointment was over. He entered the office and went to his desk.

"Neal, my office," Peter instructed, going toward the stairs.

Neal sighed, but followed him. Peter let him enter first, and closed the door. He leaned back against the door, as if he needed to make sure Neal wouldn't try to leave.

"Neal, I—"

Neal interrupted him. "Peter, please—"

"No, you listen to me. I apologize for lying to you about that meeting. I'm not very proud of the way I did it.…"

"You looked pretty smug to me," Neal commented.

"Only that you didn't see through it from the beginning, not of doing it."

Peter looked at him with serious eyes. Yes, he had been quite proud at conning the great Caffrey; he wouldn't have bet on that. He was not very proud of having lied to him, although he would do it again in a blink of an eye if it was to save his life.

"Neal, since you don't seem to be able to take care of yourself, I had to take the responsibility for it."

"I am fully capable—"

"Neal, let me finish. You heard the doctor; this is serious stuff. If you want to keep working with me I need you in good shape. I can't be worrying that the slightest shove is going to hurt your shoulder." Neal tried to stop him again and he sent him a dark look. "You know that's the risk. You may be willing to take it; I'm not."

Neal remained silent and Peter went to sit on his chair.

"Neal, why do you hate hospitals so much?" he asked in a soft voice.

"Nobody 'likes' them," Neal grumbled.

"No, of course not. But in your case it's almost phobic; I don't get it."

"Mozzie hates them more than I do."

"Because he wants to escape the system, which I'll admit proves difficult in a hospital. You're not that paranoid."

Neal looked at him with a lost look. If Peter hadn't been looking intently he might have missed it. A flicker went through the eyes of his friend, vanished before it was even there. Suddenly it all made sense.

The con man had been running most of his life. His health, his body, his good shape were paramount to what he did. Getting stuck in a hospital was almost as bad as going to prison, probably even worse when it was your body that didn't cooperate and you were totally vulnerable.

He thought back to what Neal had told him when they were locked in the storage room. That Mozzie made a good nurse. He was probably much more than a good nurse. He shivered slightly, thinking of how far he may have gone to patch up his friend … or himself for that matter. Now that he thought about it, Neal was probably good at it too. He remembered how collected Neal had remained when he had realized his shoulder was dislocated, how he rode the pain as if it was just a minor discomfort. God knew what he had been through before. Well, he had seen him climbing trees with a day-old gunshot to his leg.…

"It's different now. You know you're safe," he said softly.

"I ran away when I was eighteen, Peter; it's become an instinct. It's not going to change overnight."

Peter nodded. "I understand. Let's do this step by step, overcome your fears one at a time, okay?"

Neal shrugged slightly, not denying the fear.

"If you'll allow me, I'll be by your side all the way. Neal.…" He waited for the younger man to look at him. "Let's make that appointment, okay?"

Neal sighed then nodded. He rose from his chair to go back to his desk.

"Oh, and Neal..." Neal turned back from the door. "Take it easy in the swimming pool."

Neal opened his mouth to deny, then couldn't help a chuckle. "Too bad you chose the wrong side of the law, Peter; we would have made a great team.…"

Peter smiled and made a shooing motion with his hand. "You have a mortgage fraud case on your desk; go work."

Once he had accepted going through with the surgery, Neal tried to do his best not to run. Peter, giving him the necessary time off to deal with appointments, was always around—not hovering, just close enough—to put a hand on his shoulder, nod his head or give him a smile. Never pushing him, but present and reassuring.

He drove Neal to the clinic the day of the surgery and was by his side when he woke up. The surgery went just fine. Elizabeth dropped by to tell him everything was planned for his return and recovery. He was glad he was going back to his place. For a moment, he had been pretty sure Elizabeth would insist that he stay at their place. After two nights at the hospital, he was eager to sleep in his own bed.

Elizabeth had indeed planned everything, her background as event planner being put to use to organize Neal's recovery. At the hospital, the doctor had said that Neal would need somebody to help him for the first few days. His arm would be in a sling for about six weeks before starting physical therapy. After a couple of weeks, he would start to feel better and would probably manage on his own for most daily tasks. Ruffling his hair, Elizabeth had jokingly told Neal not to worry, that she was going to "mother-hen him to death". He had smiled his thanks, not knowing yet that Elizabeth meant it … almost literally, if anyone asked him.

The first two days went nicely. Neal was pretty heavily medicated and sleeping most of the time. Having somebody around taking care of everything was just fine. Anyway, he was too out of it to do more than eat, sleep and take the necessary trips to the bathroom.

By the third day, he found that staying awake was less of a challenge, and he really took note of what Elizabeth had meant when she had said that she had planned it all.

Mozzie, happy to sample Neal's wine collection, had the night shift. He helped him dress and undress, wash and shave, which was fine; his shoulder was still tender, and he found the less he moved it the better.

Then June appeared with breakfast, but no coffee. Apparently it was on top of Elizabeth's "no-no" list. Okay, the tea was really good and the pancakes fluffy so he didn't complain. She reappeared for a morning snack and then for lunch. Neal wondered if he had lost weight to justify so much food.

Elizabeth appeared in the afternoon, with four o'clock tea and homemade cookies. Later she prepared dinner … and cut his food in pieces small enough for a two-year old baby. She had such an adoring sweet smile as she fussed over him that he didn't have the heart to say anything.

Nonetheless, day three was kind of a bit blurry, with him needing less sleep but still taking a few naps, and actually finding out how his recovery had been organized, so it went by nicely.

Day four was a repeat of day three, and Neal wondered if he was ever going to be allowed to move from the bed to the couch without somebody hovering over him. He was tired of the cotton-head feeling the drugs gave him, and his shoulder was not really hurting that bad, so when Mozzie brought him his painkillers in the morning, he turned them down.

"Neal, you're supposed to take these for at least ten days..."

"I'll keep taking the antibiotics, don't worry. But my shoulder is fine; I don't need the painkillers now. They make me feel fuzzy."

"They're prescription. It's too early to stop taking them; you had surgery only six days ago, Neal. And don't tell me you're not hurting."

"Not that bad; not enough to justify drugs, anyway."

"Neal. How long have we known each other?" Mozzie looked at Neal with a serious face and didn't wait for an answer. "Don't think you can obfuscate with me. I know you are still in pain; I can see it in your eyes."

"And here I was, thinking only women had a thing for my eyes.…" Neal murmured.

"Neal, you know you can't redirect with me."

Neal sighed, defeated. "It's not that bad, Mozz. Really. And you know 'a little bit of pain is good for the soul'."

"Yeah, whatever. We are talking physical pain here, and that definitely is not good for your body. If you have it working double time to heal and fight the pain, it's going to take you longer to get better."

"Mozz, please.…" Neal was getting tired of this conversation.

"Anyway, I'm not giving you a choice. You either take them voluntarily, or I'll force them down you."

"What? You're going to keep you hand over my mouth until you're sure I either swallow them or they melt?"

Mozzie went to his satchel. "I have other means. All I need is to make one phone call and I'll get an injectable version of your painkillers in minutes.…" He turned around, holding a syringe.

Neal blanched; he didn't doubt Mozzie knew the right people to get the stuff. "You're kidding, right?"

Mozzie raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not letting you stick me with a needle."

"I'll do it if I have to; you're in no shape to put up much of a fight." Mozzie was serious as death.

Neal took a glass of water and swallowed the pills, muttering about nurses with delusions of grandeur and wondering when Elizabeth had organized "the" meeting to have things run the way she wanted them.

Day five was a copy of day four with the exception of Neal trying to find Mozzie's syringe in order to get rid of it. But he couldn't find it. Not surprising of course. Mozzie knew him better than anyone; he wasn't going to leave stuff that Neal could get his hands on. So he suffered in silence, not even feeling in the mood to draw or paint. He spent most of the day on the terrace, looking at the sky and the buildings, cursing the day he had relented to Peter and accepted the surgery.

His texts to Peter were the only thing that kept him sane. Peter seemed to be perfectly aware of the extensive mother-henning but couldn't do much about it. "Fight against June and Elizabeth? Even Quantico doesn't train for that." Neal wondered if Peter would show up if he sent a text saying 'Help!'. Most probably not. Peter would call any of his three avenging angels to check what was wrong … and tell him that some people needed to work.

On day six, Neal was sitting on the couch reading when Elizabeth combed her fingers through his hair. He jumped in surprise at the intimate gesture.

"Neal, your hair is a mess."

Neal winced. He still couldn't get his left arm high enough to wash his hair, so most of the time he just wet it down.

"Is Mozzie washing your hair?" Elizabeth didn't wait for an answer. "Of course he is. And he has no idea how to take care of these curls."

Before Neal had time to answer, she had vanished into the bathroom. She fussed around with towels, a stool and a pitcher, then called Neal. Okay, so the hair washing was nice. And the head massage had him almost moaning in pleasure before he remembered who was doing it. Her insisting on blow-drying it almost made him snap. He gritted his teeth and endured the pampering. And, well … his hair did look better, so he couldn't really complain.

Day seven, Peter was working on a file when he received a distressed call from Elizabeth.

"Honey, Neal is gone!"

Peter felt his heart try to escape through his ribs. "What!?"

"He was taking a nap and I went to check on him.… He was gone! He has his anklet right? Can you find him?" Elizabeth was on the brink of tears.

His hands working faster than his mind, Peter already had Neal's anklet data on his screen. The dot bleeped obediently at June's place. For one second, Peter's mind created mad schemes of how Neal had gotten out of the anklet, then he remembered the desperate texts from Neal and he sighed, relieved.

"Honey, calm down," he said softly to Elizabeth. "Tell me what happened exactly."

"He looked tired, so I convinced him to take a nap. He didn't put up much of a fight so I figured he really was tired. I helped get in his bed and he was out like in five minutes." Peter was glad Elizabeth couldn't see him roll his eyes. "I was downstairs chatting with June. I went back up about one hour later and his bed was empty.…" Elizabeth sobbed. "Oh Peter, do you think he ran? He's in no shape to do that, his shoulder.…" Elizabeth was crying.

Peter winced. He was going to kill Caffrey. He understood that being smothered to death was unnerving, but it didn't justify the level of anguish he was putting his wife through.

"El, honey, please, calm down. I'm already leaving the office. I'm going straight to June's place. I'll find him. You go home."

"But Peter.…"

"No, you go home, honey. Take a nice relaxing bath, make yourself some tea. I'll find him, I promise. You know I always do. As soon as I have news I'll call you. We'll probably need to talk some, so I'd rather be alone with him. Okay, hon?"

"You won't hurt him?" Elizabeth asked, suddenly worried.

"Of course not. He cannot be very far. As you said he's in no shape to wander. I'll pull up his tracking data and find him." Peter winced as he said this. He hated lying to El, but he wasn't going to tell her Neal was still at June's place. He needed to give the guy a break, check what had happened that made Neal bolt, and then try and fix it. The evening was going to be fun.…

"Okay, I'll go home. Call me as soon as you've found him." Elizabeth disconnected the phone.

When Peter arrived at the mansion, Elizabeth had left and June opened the door with a worried look.

"Peter."

"Hi, June. It seems our favorite con man has run again."

June smiled. "You can't keep him caged … and this house does have quite a few escape routes. Neal knows them all." Though worried, the old lady seemed to think Neal's disappearance was more funny than serious.

"I'll find him," Peter repeated and went up the stairs to the loft.

He opened the door slowly. He hadn't come to the loft after bringing Neal back from the hospital. He winced as he saw the place. No wonder Neal had bolted. Elizabeth had turned the apartment into a recovery room straight out of a magazine. Fluffy pillows crowded the bed; Elizabeth's handmade patchwork was thrown on the couch; there were books and magazines piled on the coffee table. Plants adorned the kitchen. A basket with snacks and teas was on the table. The chairs were pushed to clear the way so that Neal could move around without bumping into anything. The way they had moved the stuff, he could probably move around with his eyes closed.…

He looked around, wondering where Neal could have gone to get some privacy. He looked at the ladder against the wall. He had always wondered where it led. He lifted his head. Sure enough, the trap door wasn't locked. He smiled and went up the steps.

He pushed the door, getting to some sort of small attic, and went to the door leading to the roof. A wide ledge allowed moving around, meant to give access to workers needing to fix the roof. Neal was sitting against a wall, a sketch book on his lap, his hand busy drawing.

"Hi, Peter," he said without lifting his head.

Peter chuckled. "You're making this way too easy, you know. You're gonna lose your reputation."

"Nah.… You're the only one who can find me." Neal looked up with a smile. "Come over, sit down. Enjoy the peace and the view."

Peter had always been overwhelmed by the view from the terrace, but this was … he actually had no words. If the view from the terrace was the million dollar view, then this would be like the billion dollar view.… Being on top of the house with no railings or low wall made you feel like you were flying over the city. He expelled a deep breath through his mouth.

"You never told me about this."

"A guy's gotta keep some secrets," Neal answered with mischievous eyes.

Peter sat by his side and looked at the sketch. "Nice."

"I always wanted to paint the view from here. Never had the opportunity."

"So you thought today was the right day?"

"Something like that," Neal muttered. "Oh, this is for you." Neal handed him a beer.

Peter raised an eyebrow.

"I knew you'd find me, so I thought you'd deserve a reward."

"Well, since it's gift time. I have a little something for you." Peter put his hand to his pocket and handed him a small thermos bottle.

Neal turned pale. "Peter, is this…?" He couldn't believe his luck.

"Yeah. Figured Elizabeth had it banned."

Neal opened the thermos and took a long draft of the coffee. He closed his eyes and moaned deeply, letting his head drop against the wall behind him in almost orgasmic bliss. Peter chuckled.

"If you want me to leave you alone with that bottle.…"

"Oh god, Peter." Neal took another swallow. "Thank you."

"Thank you for the beer!" Peter opened the screw top and took a swig. "How come you have beer up here?" Peter asked with a slight frown.

Neal rolled his eyes. "Peter, I may be a bit cranky with all the mother-hen circus down there, but I don't mix alcohol and drugs. You know I'm not much of a beer guy anyway. Apparently Elizabeth and her crew know that too, because it's been sitting in the fridge for quite a while. When I decided to come up here, I took it for you. This is a nice place for a drink."

"'Elizabeth and her crew'," Peter repeated.

"Peter, I know they mean well and are full of good intentions, but they're killing me. It's like all the characters from Little Women came down on me. I expect them to appear with a basket of kittens at any time."

"So you're Beth now?"

"I don't know, but I'm starting to pity that girl.…"

"It didn't end well for her."

"Yeah, she was lucky.…" Neal mumbled with a shiver.

"That bad?" Peter asked, sympathetic.

"You're married to Elizabeth, so I'd think you know. What's with the coffee anyway?"

"Never figured that one out. Elizabeth seems to be convinced that coffee is a poison when you are sick and apparently it expands to being hurt or wounded … I can understand the need to watch caffeine the first days, or with some medications, but otherwise.… You know, I think one of the reasons I'm almost never sick is that I know that I'll be denied coffee for as long as I'm not a hundred percent on my feet."

The two men chuckled. Neal sipped his coffee, Peter his beer, in companionable silence.

"She washed my hair yesterday," Neal told Peter.

"With the full scalp massage?"

"Yeah.…" He sighed.

"She's good with that." Peter had a pleasured smile. "Actually, she's pretty good with her hands."

"Peter!"

"What?"

"She's your wife; I'm not sure I want to know what she's good at with her hands."

"Just thought you'd need some male bonding after the hearts and pink ribbons of the last days…."

"I'm sure we can bond over topics other than your sex life.…" Neal muttered. He never felt comfortable with Peter and Elizabeth's easy relationship. He always thought some private stuff needed to remain … private.

"El likes you, Neal. Your being suddenly vulnerable makes her feel protective. She'd probably cuddle you to sleep if she could get away with it. We don't have kids so you're giving her a chance to use her mother instinct."

"I don't really blame her, Peter. It's just a bit overwhelming. I am not a kid … or a puppy.…" Neal dropped his head to look at his sketch.

"How did you make it up that ladder anyway?" Peter asked suddenly.

"It was—

"Reckless … dangerous … stupid thing to do.…"

Neal ignored the sarcasm. "Tricky… It was not easy, but I managed. Your bottle and the pencils in my pocket, my sketch book inside my pants waist … one step at a time, holding only with my right hand. It was actually easier than going down that fire escape back at the storage place… Actually I was more worried about Elizabeth showing up suddenly. I would have been in trouble…" Neal raised his head to look at Peter, worried. "Now that I think of it, I'm lucky it's my shoulder. If this had happened when we came back from Cape Verde.…" He shivered in fear.

"You're lucky you healed fast," agreed Peter.

"Yeah…"

Peter scrunched his eyes at the tone. He had indeed healed fast, especially for a gunshot that was treated that poorly. He looked at Neal who was correcting an angle on his sketch. Maybe it hadn't healed that fast after all… Oh, well. He wasn't going to blame the guy for that now. He looked at the sketch and back to the buildings.

"God, that view," whispered Peter.

"Yeah."

"I should be mad at you, you know."

"Why? You didn't really think I had run? Come on, I know you. The second Elizabeth called, you were checking my anklet."

"You made her cry."

Neal winced. "Really cry?" Peter nodded. "Ouch, never thought she'd react that bad."

"I think she's tired; that was kind of the last straw."

"But Peter, I never asked.…"

"I know, I know… She did this to herself."

"Where is she now?"

"I told her to go home and take a relaxing bath. I'll pick up some flowers on the way—and send you the bill—and I'll spend the weekend with her. It will be nice to spend some quality time together … and that will keep her out of your hair."

"I'm sorry, Peter," Neal said in a soft voice. "Will you apologize to Elizabeth for me?" He sighed, frowning. "I'll get her up here, show her the view. I'm hoping she'll like it and understand."

"Not a chance."

Neal gave him a questioning look.

"My wife can face armed robbers with nothing but a smile, but you won't get her up here."

"Heights fear?"

"Yeah…" Peter shook his head, chuckling. "And I don't see how she could make it up that ladder with those heels she likes to wear."

Neal chuckled. "At least you're sure she can't run away."

Peter finished his beer, Neal his coffee, and they went back to the room.

"Enjoy the freedom," Peter told him as he dialed Elizabeth to let her know he had found Neal. "I'm calling Mozzie to ask him to bring you take-out food."

Neal shot him a dark look, "Peter, please, not you too…"

Peter returned the stare and made the call. Neal let it drop, Mozzie would be arriving in a couple of hours, but in the meantime, he could have some time alone. He needed to think of a proper way to apologize to Elizabeth.

A few days later, Elizabeth dropped by for a short visit. Apparently Peter had convinced her that Neal was doing better and didn't need twenty-four/seven assistance.

"Elizabeth, I wanted to thank you for taking care of me and also to apologize for the fright when I … disappeared." He handed her a small package.

Elizabeth opened it, curious, and remained speechless, her mouth open. Neal had painted the view from the rooftop at sunset. The deep golden colors of the evening seemed to glow right out of the canvas.

"Neal, this is…" She apparently couldn't find the words. She hugged him. "Thank you."

"Thank you for taking care of me so well."

Neal returned to the office two weeks later; his arm was still in the sling but he had convinced Peter that he could do some light work. He opened the door and sighed in happiness. He dropped his hat on his desk and went to say hello to Jones and Diana. The agents were glad to see him back and teased him about all the files they had saved especially for him.

"Yeah, right, whatever…" Neal shook his head and looked up to Peter's office. The agent gave him a hand signal to come up.

"Welcome back, Neal. So how does it feel waking up early to go to work?" Peter teased.

"Never felt better," Neal confirmed with a satisfied sigh. "Something for me to work on?"

"I left a few files on your desk."

"Mortgage fraud?" Neal asked with a smile.

"Old cases I'd like you to go over. Since you will not be allowed in the field for another four weeks at least, I've got to keep you busy."

"Okay. I understand." Neal nodded. He seemed hesitant for a few seconds. "Peter, I want to thank you for helping me get through this."

"Anytime, I realize it was difficult for you."

"I... uh... I seem to remember you being there when I woke up from the surgery... It's pretty fuzzy."

Peter chuckled. "Yes, you were quite out of it. You didn't sing though."

Neal winced. "Amen for that. Did you... I..." He frowned. "Did you actually have the nerve to ask me how I had hurt my shoulder the fourth time?"

Peter bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud. "You did tell me I would need to get you drunk. That was the closest I could get."

"That's low, Peter. And unadmissable, you realize that?"

"Everything isn't about work, Neal. A little personal enjoyment is always gratifying. And come on it's not that big a deal," Peter answered with a small smile.

Neal squinted his eyes looking at him closely. "Nice try. I didn't tell you anything, right?" he guessed.

Peter laughed out loud this time. "No. You were totally out of it but still holding to the 5th. It was actually funny when you tried to quote the full article to me."

Neal shook his head in amusement. "Forget about it. Oh, and Peter, I need to tell you something.…"

Peter frowned, worried at change in the tone. "Yes?"

"Next time I get hurt and need surgery … I'm cutting my anklet and running away."

The end