Last chapter, enjoy! Thank you to everyone who stuck with this story!

Agent Hughes had his arms crossed as he looked at Caffrey, wired up in his hospital bed. He was behind a glass pane, looking at the CI with a haggard face and crossed arms. What a mess, the entire situation turning from a snowball to an avalanche. Neal had been shot right in the stomach, but to the side. It had pierced a bit of his lining, but mainly was a flesh wound. He had lost a lot of blood, his heart rate a little low.

Hughes ran in just a few seconds after Caffrey was shot. He should've been happy, but Neal was still part of his team, he cared for him. Then, he heard Peter's cries. Hughes rushed in to see Peter being held back by two agents as three more moved forward, circling Caffrey, guns pointed down at his fallen form.

"What are you doing?!" Peter shouted, "You idiots! It's not him, he didn't steal it!"

Hughes furrowed his brows. Caffrey was motionless. Someone was already calling an ambulance.

Burke's words started to register with some of the men, they looked confused, wondering if they had missed their target.

"Okay, okay, everyone calm down!" Hughes jogged to the center, "Get Peter out of here!"

"WHAT?!" Burke fought as the men dragged him towards the door, "Hughes, you bastard! You don't know what you're doing, you don't know what happened! It was Keller, not Neal, it was Keller!"

His shouts faded out as he was detained.

"Where's that ambulance?" Hughes said in a deep voice.

"A few minutes out, sir."

"All right, someone put pressure on the wound, wait till the paramedics arrive."

Peter's cries still rang in his ears.

"Oh, for god's sake, put your guns down. He's not a danger to anyone anymore."

"Look, boss," one of his men called him over, "the painting."

Hughes' eyes lit up, Peter was probably just devastated that Neal could do something like this again-

His agent turned the painting around and a price tag was stuck in the corner.

PAINTING
$49.99

Hughes felt something sink in his stomach. The paramedics rushed through the door, someone put cuffs on Neal as the emergency responders lifted him onto a gurney, battling the gunshot wound.

Everything moved in slow motion for Hughes. Bits and pieces started fitting together like a puzzle as this entire case revealed itself in a new light.

"Boss!"

He turned around, sluggishly.

One of his agents found a small handgun in the corner of the room. It wasn't FBI issue.

He cleared his throat, "Bag and tag it. I want everything Evidence finds on that."

"You got it, sir."

He jolted himself out of the memories from earlier in the day. Now, he was at the hospital, looking at Neal's still form, and probably racking up a huge worker's comp bill.

"Hughes!" It sounded distant, but he closed his eyes slowly, knowing exactly who it was.

Peter rounded the corner like a raging bull. He was breathing heavily, eyes zeroed in on Hughes standing in front of the glass pane. He crossed the hall in a few angry strides, yelling at him all the while.

"Hughes!" he growled in a deep voice, "Hughes, you bastard! Look what you did!"

Reese looked between Peter and the figure in bed behind the glass pane. After everything that had happened, he couldn't let Burke see Caffrey like that. He began to move forward, to meet Peter before he would see the debilitated Neal.

"Peter-"

Burke grabbed him by the shoulders and cornered him against the wall. It wasn't a hostile move, it didn't hurt, as Hughes was still Peter's boss, but his grip was tight with desperate emotion. He was worried sick about Neal, and he needed to concentrate all of those feelings into one place.

"Calm down, Peter, it's okay. Calm down."

His agent looked to the floor, still holding Hughes' shoulder tightly, but it seemed like it was more for support rather than aggression.

"That's it, easy now."

His back heaved with heavy sighs, until finally he calmed a little.

He mumbled something.

"What?" Reese tried to make it out.

"He wasn't the thief…"

Reese's breath hitched in his throat. Peter's voice sounded broken.

"I know," Hughes placed a light hand on Burke's shoulder.

"Then why…" he couldn't continue.

"We got it wrong, Peter, I'm sorry. I should've had more faith in you and Neal."

Peter nodded slightly, as if the apology was slowly seeping in. It would take a while for Burke to forgive Hughes, but this was a start.

"Keller?"

"On the run. All spare agents are trying to track him."

"He's injured."

"This is Keller we're talking about, he's resourceful."

"The real Monet?"

"Right where he said it'd be."

"Are you sure?"

"We ran every possible authentication test, it's really it."

"Good," he let out a sigh as he straightened up, "now, where's Neal?"

"Peter-"

"Hughes, where is he?"

"Burke, just wait-"

"Where is he?"

He let out a defeated breath, "Remember when you were walking down the hall and I was looking at something?"

"Yeah," Peter answered grimly.

Hughes slightly nodded his head down the hall.

Peter's face went slack, his entire focus shifting into a dreadful look as the pieces put themselves together. He began to shove past Hughes.

"No, Peter, wait-"

"Let me go."

"Peter-"

"Let me go!"

Burke ripped himself away from his boss and went jogging down the hall. He screeched to a stop in front of the glass pane Hughes stood at minutes before. His eyes went wide and mouth dropped slightly as he looked at the figure behind the window.

"Neal…"

Hughes watched in uncomfortable, guilty silence. He cleared his throat, looked down at his shoes, then turned away. He walked down the hall Peter just came through and left the two alone.

Neal felt some pain register into his clouded, black mind. His sealed eyelids screwed up in sensitivity as he opened them for a minute and blinding light registered through his sore pupils. His hand tried reaching for the light switch right by his nightstand, but something tugged against his skin. He felt confused and disoriented, and opened his ice blue eyes little by little to see an iV poking out of the crook of his elbow. He wasn't at home in his comfortable apartment? He wasn't in his luxurious bed? He wasn't wearing his silk robe with a fresh bottle of wine open?
No, he was in a shabby looking hospital in a dimly lit room, lights flickering, a stiff patient gown on his body, and nauseating sludge seeping through his IV.

He tried to sit up, but a groan immediately escaped his lips.

Something stirred in the corner of his eye. He saw a red tie, a dark suit, and then Peter Burke swam into his vision. He looked groggy too, as if he just woke up. Neal's eyes flitted to the corner to see a makeshift bed set up on a meager cot.

"Neal?" Peter seemed suddenly alert as Caffrey came to, "Can you hear me?"

"Peter?" he groaned.

"Oh, thank God," Peter looked to the heavens in relief, "I thought you were a goner."

"No, I'm still sticking around a bit longer."

A smile broke on Burke's lips, something he hadn't seen in a long time.

"I see that annoying sense of humor didn't die with you?"

"Not a chance."

"How you feeling?"

"Like crap," he sat up slowly, wincing, "but I'll live."

"Take it easy, huh? I don't want to lose you again."

"Agent Peter Burke?" Neal cracked a playful smile, "are you worried about me?"

"Me? Worried? Pssh, come on, Neal, I-I mean, I wasn't worried, I was just-you know, the mission was intense so-"

"Don't confuse yourself," Neal chuckled, "thank you, though."

A moment of silence lapsed.

Caffrey spoke again, "Peter, what happened back there? At the museum?"

Burke shivered, "Nothing good, Neal. To be honest, I'd rather not relive it just yet, but we got the Monet."

"Good. Keller?"

"Still on the run."

Caffrey's eyes smoldered as he looked down at the bedsheets, "We'll catch him, Neal."

"We've been saying that for years now."

"Trust me, it'll catch up to him. Meanwhile, worry about yourself. You got a bullet in you tonight."

"Yeah, I think the pain meds are blocking the real blow, but I'm sure I'll feel it in the morning."

"Neal, I thought you almost died. The way the bullet just ripped through you, and the blood. I…"

"I'm okay, Peter."

"Yeah, but for how long? What if one day, we aren't so lucky?"

"Are you saying you want me to go?"

"No, no, it's just it's safer…"

"Peter, I don't need safety, I need freedom," he lifted the bed sheets slightly to expose the tracker anklet still tightly strapped to his ankle around his sock, "I want to do this, trust me."

"Okay, if that's what you want."

A nurse walked into the room, carrying a small tray with some medicine bottles.

"Good morning," she nodded at Neal, happy to see he was awake, "just here to administer some more medication."

"Do what you gotta do, doc," he leaned back in his bed. Peter took a step back.

"The medicine is going to put you out real fast, okay? Doctor's orders."

He sighed in relief a bit. Caffrey was so exhausted, a little sleep and some care was exactly what he needed.

She pricked the needle into his IV and he felt the rush of the liquid in his skin. The nurse pulled it out and Neal rested against his pillow.

"You've got a little under a minute before he's out," she smiled and walked out.

"I'll tell Elizabeth you're awake," Peter smiled.

"Yeah, and thank her for everything."

"You got it. Her and Mozzie are probably worried sick at the house."

Peter could already see Neal's eyes glaze over.

"I don't even want to know what that's going to be like," Neal chuckled tiredly.

"You get some rest, okay? I'll be here when you wake up and we can talk to Hughes about a pay raise or an upgrade for your service."

Neal felt exhaustion creep up his limbs, he nodded tiredly as his eyelids shut. Someone adjusted his blankets and turned off the lights as he slowly slipped out of consciousness, happy to be alive.

Peter watched from the doorway. Neal was asleep in the hospital bed, looking like a small, vulnerable child under his care. He would do everything he could to protect Caffrey from Keller and any other, he trusted Neal, loved him like a son, and he would get better soon.

Back to work, Peter turned away from the room and walked down the hall.

The End!
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