I Believe In You

Peter bent over his friend and laid a hand on his cheek. His flushed skin was radiating an impossible heat.

"Neal, are you with me, buddy? Can you look at me?"

Neal's half-lidded eyes drifted towards Peter's and recognition made them sparkle a little underneath their feverish glaze. "Pe'r."

"Yeah, it's me. Neal, we're taking you home. Come on."

"Wha?" Neal coughed weakly.

Carefully, Peter reached behind Neal's back and ever so slowly raised him up into a sitting position, the jackets and his limp hands falling into his lap in the process. "Can you swing your legs off the gurney for me?" Neal tried to comply and slowly dragged his legs off the cot, groaning miserably as he hung is head. "'m cold."

"I know, I know, we'll be home soon. El, can you go get the car? I'll be fine wheeling him out."

El nodded gingerly and left.

Peter turned around for a second to position the wheelchair next to him and just as he turned back, Neal's eyes closed and he fell forward, his muscular frame hitting Peter's chest, who instinctively wrapped his arms around the young man. "Woah! Dammit." He couldn't see his eyes as his face was nestled in the nape of his neck. Way too warm. "Neal. Ugh." Peter shook his friend a little, then reached for the nasal cannula and gently removed it.

Peter slowly pulled the con man forward so that he was sliding off the gurney, holding him up under his arms now, he turned on his axis to let his heavy charge descend into the wheelchair. Only then did he dare to let go of Neal's torso, inspecting his work with his hands on his hips in a very Burke-ish stance. Neal was somewhat sitting upright and a little more alert but clearly upset and uncomfortable, his large glassy eyes now peering up at Peter. "'m sorry, Pet'r. Jus' wan'ed to help."

He said it with such desperation he almost sounded angry.

He huffed out a sigh, which resulted in a small hiccup and he pressed his lips together to keep the pain at bay, tilting his head to the side a little, letting his dark waves fall over his forehead and looked back up at Peter, his eyes even larger than usual, vibrant blue orbs above pinkish, flushed cheeks. How could Peter be angry? He and El did not have any children yet and he couldn't deny his paternal, or big-brotherly feelings for the man. He looked so young, forlorn and just outright adorable that Peter had almost forgotten about the stolen painting resulting in Neal's brush with death at the lake.

Peter let out a heavy sigh and laid a hand on Neal's head. "Let's talk about this, when you're feeling better, okay?"

"N-no. Please. Pet'r. Are we still friends? Will you send me back to prison? Do you hate me?" The young man's voice was husk and almost broke.

"What? Neal, I don't hate you!" Peter blurted out, utterly surprised.

He sighed and squatted down in front of Neal's chair, the young man looking at him with so much hope and expectancy.

"In hopes that you'll remember this when you're better, because you are on drugs right now, let me tell you this: I don't hate you and I never will. I agreed to your deal and to take you under my wings because I like you, kid. I think you are the best damn con-man I have ever known, or chased for that matter, but underneath that, you are kind and caring, you are a good man. I will get you out of this one, because I believe you can do better. That you are better. I believe in you, Neal. And yes, I was mad you stole that painting, even though you did it to help me solve this case. But I am furious that you ignored the danger. How could you have been so reckless? Do you know how often I worry about you? You almost drowned, dammit! For a split second, I thought I lost you. I can't have that. El can't. Neither can Mozzie, Jones or Diana. Or June. You are family, Neal. And you are my best friend. You make me and my life so much better. There. Now let's go."

He gingerly got up and stepped behind the wheelchair, seeing Neal's expression just for a second out of the corner of his eyes. The young man's mouth hung open, totally surprised and in awe. Well, while getting through this illness and during recovery, he would have enough time to digest the notion that he actually was... loved, Peter mused.