#2×16

Neal came to his senses feeling warmth all around his limbs. It was so strange to his foggy brain, that it took him a long moment to identify that he was laying in a bed.

Not his bed, though. The mattress underneath felt a bit too hard on his back and the sheets over him were scratchy and too light to be comfortable.

But he was warm again and it felt wonderful for a whole minute, untill his mind began to catch up with him and memory after memory began to invade the peaceful state of mind he had hid himself in.

The kidnapping, the drugs.

The U-boat. The dynamite.

The treasure.

The explosion.

Adler.

Peter.

Involuntarily, Neal sucked in a breath at the memory, and then harshly started coughing. His throat felt painfully dry but each cough made him spasm and brought a wave of pain to his chest. He curled up on the side that hurt less, holding his breath in an attempt to stop the pain, even when his lungs protested the lack of oxygen.

The shift in position didn't help with the pain, instead, it made everything that wasn't hurting yet begin to ache.

He couldn't hold his breath forever, so he gasped when he couldn't hold it any longer, and the searing pain it sent through his ribs made him bite down his lip hard to stop a whimper from escaping.

Neal thought this torture would never end, every breath hurt and every cough that escaped from his throat felt like a stabbing straight into his chest.

Then, just as he thought he might lose the will to keep his pain to himself and cry out for help, the sharp edge of it began to dull. The ache in his ribs started to lessen to a manageable level and the stabbing when he took in a breath nearly disappeared.

That's when he noticed that he wasn't alone, wherever he was.

Someone's hand was travelling up and down his spine, the touch light, mindful of where it was hurting more. They were speaking, talking to him, but the words weren't making sense in Neal's brain. Something touched the tip of his lips, pressuring slightly, encouraging him to open up, and Neal had enough mindfulness to seal them in a thin line.

He wasn't going to take anything from whoever that was!

Even though he knew it hurt, he turned his body so he was laying on his back again, successfully dislodging the hand on his back and the paper straw that was being pressed on his lips.

He had to get a grip on himself. 'Cowboy up' as Peter so often said to him, but it was just so hard. His whole body was hurting, he felt weak and disoriented and his head was spinning even though he had yet to open his eyes.

Neal knew it wasn't an option. Knew that it was wishful thinking, just like he knew it was back when he was sick as a child and wished for a father that was dead, but he wanted Peter. He wanted Peter to tell him it was going to be alright, that he was safe, that he would protect him like he did after Kate's plane exploded and Neal was in the hospital.

He wanted Peter, but Peter didn't want him anymore. Peter didn't trust him. Didn't believe him.

All this brought fresh tears to his eyes and he found he had no strength to fight them. His chest was already heaving, as panic clawed at him from the fear of having been taken by Adler's men, and then the first sob erupted from his throat, shaking his whole body.

Hands were touching him again, one caressing his hair and the other cupping his cheek. They were speaking again, voice soothing and gentle, asking him to calm down, to take a breath and hold it for a few seconds.

For a moment Neal thought the voice was Peter.

The touch on his head felt familiar and the hand gently wiping his tears was rough and gentle at the same time, the way he would recognise anywhere.

Without meaning to, Peter's name escaped his lips. He knew it was wishful thinking, but he'd live in the illusion for as long as it lasted.

But the voice answered to it with eagerness, praising him for something he wasn't aware he was doing and encouraging him to continue taking longer breaths.

Neal frowned, for the first time feeling like he was missing something. He did what the voice – Peter's voice? – was saying, calming down enough to not feel like he might lose himself in his mind again.

And then he opened his eyes.

Fluorescent lights assaulted his pupils and he closed his eyes tightly, controlling his breathing to lessen the headache pulsing behind his eyelids. He sensed the light of the room dimming and risked reopening them a slit. Everything seemed foggy in the near darkness so he blinked a few times to clean his sight.

Neal immediately noticed that he was in a hospital. Nowhere else was as barren, sterile and white as hospital rooms were.

The second thing he noticed was the hand still on his face, cradling him like he was the finest artifact ever found. Following the arm of the person to the chest and to their face, against his better judgement, Neal sucked in a sharp breath again.

"Peter!" he managed to say, before the words scratched his throat and he fell into another coughing fit.

This time when Peter pressed the straw to his lips he opened them without a second thought. He drank the cool water as if he hadn't had it in days, which maybe was exactly what had happened, only slowing down when Peter asked him to take it easy. Half the glass was gone by the time Peter pulled it away, promising more in just a minute.

"Hey." Peter's voice sounded hoarse so he cleared his throat before continuing "How are you feeling, bud?"

Neal found he couldn't do anything but stare. He was so certain that Peter would never be there for him again, so certain that whatever had made him accuse Neal of stealing the art had created a rift between them that would never be mended...

"Neal?" Peter called, a worried frown replacing the relief in his expression "Are you okay? Are you still in pain?"

Neal numbly shook his head, feeling at a loss of words. His answer, though, brought back the relief to Peter's face. His eyes softened and a small smile appeared on his lips.

"Good, that's good." he said, still staring at Neal like he was important "You've got me really scared for a moment. I thought you couldn't breathe."

Neal just blinked in response, feeling his drug-induced sluggish brain two steps behind the current conversation. He knew his lack of responsiveness was making Peter begin to worry again, but he just couldn't wrap his head around the fact that he was actually there, that he really cared. That he cared enough to stay with him.

Peter still cared.

The realisation hit Neal like a freight train and he felt his vision grow blurry with tears. He let them fall, not minding that Peter was seeing him crying (again).

The worried frown was back full force. Then Peter was saying something about calling the nurse back, beginning to move away and removing his hands, and Neal couldn't bear to be left at that moment, so he snatched his own hand up, faster than he registered it and thought he could move, and held Peter's hand, guiding it back to his cheek. The movement hurt his bandaged wrist, but everything still felt distant enough that he didn't care.

Peter had gone silent after his sudden action and focused on him, waiting for something to tell him what to do next. To help was Peter's most predominant trait, and Neal could say he had seized the opportunity to use it plenty of times before.

But never like this.

"You're here." was the only thing he said, voice scratchy and thin from disuse.

Neal opened a smile, letting his hand slide down to his bandaged chest, and feeling all leftover despair leaving him with every calming breath he took.

Peter still seemed worried, but was trying to hide it for Neal's sake, so he opened a smile that looked like a strange mix of amusement and sadness.

"Of course I am. I'm not leaving your side." he said, sounding so honest, face open in a manger that Neal had only witnessed whenever Peter looked at his wife and rarely saw directed towards himself.

"Thought you were mad at me." finding the proper words to string a coherent sentence was a task, and to speak was hard, but he'd push himself regardless, because he needed to know.

Neal felt his heart accelerating, despite the calming breaths he was still taking, because Pete's answer could shatter the moment or change their lives for good. His fate rested in Peter's hands and now more than ever Neal understood that it didn't mean only prison and freedom.

"I was." Peter fought to find the right words for a moment and Neal thought that he was done, that their partnership was over and their relationship would never be the same again "I was. I'm not anymore."

Neal sighed in relief, feeling a weight being lifted from his chest, making breathing a little easier despite his injuries. He opened a wider smile, not filtering the joy it brought him.

Peter stared at him for a long moment, smiling too, but his looked a bit sadder.

"I'm sorry for what I said." he started, becoming serious again "I should've believed in you. I was harsh and stupid and I am truly sorry. I hope you can forgive me."

Neal was frowning again. He wasn't expecting such a heartfelt apology for a discussion that, at least on Peter's side, wasn't so heartbreaking.

"I... Okay." Neal simply answered, too bewildered to say anything else.

Peter shook his head, not seeming to accept his words, but thankfully he didn't push.

"We'll talk about this again later." and his smile was back "How are you feeling? And don't even think about lying." he said, pointing a warning finger to him before Neal could open his mouth.

"Honestly? I feel like I've been hit by a truck." he said, laughing a bit at his joke but stopping short when it pulled at his ribs.

"Yeah, that's a fair equivalent to the pressure release of God knows how many TNTs exploding inside a submarine." he smiled, but his eyes were pained again "You could've died. You could've died so many times that day and still I-"

Peter cut himself with a deep breath, calming down for Neal's sake. He resumed scratching at the back of Neal's head with one hand, to have something concrete to focus on instead of what ifs. Elizabeth only knew how many nightmares he had woken up from, with the horrible images his mind had conjured when he-

"Hey, I'm okay now." Neal said, noticing the distress growing in Peter's eyes.

Peter chuckled, smiling at him "How come you're in the hospital bed and still you're the one comforting me?"

Neal matched Peter's smile with the brightest he could muster in his state.

"That's just how good I am." he said, knowing that Peter would scoff and remind him for the nth time who was wearing a tracking anklet.

But he didn't. Peter's smile disappeared and Neal saw pure honesty in his eyes as he stared at Neal's with unwavering intensity. Neal swallowed dry, suddenly very nervous with Peter's mood change.

"You are." Peter said, voice low and heavy with emotions he was trying hard to keep to himself.

To Neal's slightly confused face, he continued.

"You are a good man and I couldn't have asked for a better partner and friend than you."

For the second – or third? – time that day Neal felt his eyes watering. He didn't know how to answer to that declaration. He was sure that if he opened his mouth right then he'd embarrass himself by confessing a four letter word that started with an 'L' to Peter, so he shut his mouth and opened a smile, hoping, no, knowing that Peter would understand it.

Neal still didn't know what had happened to him after he marched away from Peter's accusation, he didn't know what had caused that in the first place, or what had made him change his mind, but he was grateful for the moment of peace they were sharing.

It would end, Neal knew. Eventually he'd have to face whatever had happened, but for now everything was just right.