Jacobi Hospital. Friday night. February 27, 2004.

There was nothing like a late-night call from a hospital to get your heart pumping. Henry tamped down the panic, and focused his energy on a determination to find Neal.

But exhausted from a few days of worry, he couldn't keep the panic from manifesting as anger. He found himself irrationally angry at Neal for getting into trouble. Again. Already. It's like Neal had two settings: asleep and in trouble.

Then there were the moments of blind rage at whoever wanted to kill Neal. Henry wasn't entirely sure what he'd do if he found the would-be-murderer. Sometimes he wished for a chance to be alone with that person to exact vengeance. Sometimes he hoped someone would be around to stop him.

And lastly were the flashes of guilt. He was mad at himself for letting Neal get into trouble. Mad at himself for being annoyed at Neal. Mad at himself for being jealous that Neal was the center of attention – and how irrational was that? Henry didn't want to have Neal's childhood issues or to experience an overdose of Flashback.

He shoved the anger deep inside with the panic and calmly asked his grandparents what had happened, and whether Neal had been loopy or clearheaded. He kept texting Neal, who seemed to be in his right mind but was having a little too much fun. But that was Neal for you. Boredom brought out his reckless side. And being confined to a hospital bed was admittedly boring. Based on what their grandparents had said, Neal probably wasn't aware of just how traumatic the last few days had been for his loved ones. No one had told him how close he'd come to dying, or that someone still wanted him dead.

"Henry?" Peter said.

Henry looked up from his text messages to see his grandparents and Peter watching him. There was concern in their expressions. As if they didn't have enough to worry about, now he was adding to their stress. A grin wasn't going to fool anyone this late in the game, so he didn't bother. "Neal's in the basement," he said, and started walking toward the elevators.

"We need a plan," Peter said, walking beside him.

"I have one." Henry described what he had in mind as they looked for a service elevator that would take them to the basement.

Neal had been on the move, finally agreeing to stay in one place when Henry had texted he was on his way. They found him in the hospital's laundry area, leaning against a stack of folded blankets while talking on his phone. "I'm not an idiot, Bickerton. I'm not meeting with you in your car. Do you think you're going to drive me someplace where I'll be outnumbered and at your mercy? I don't think so. Neutral ground or you can forget it." He muted the phone and looked up at Henry. "Is my room clear?"

Henry nodded. Even though Neal sounded impressively clearheaded, it couldn't last much longer. It had been twenty minutes since he'd sent that first text.

"Meet me back in my room," he said to Bickerton and then hung up before the lawyer could try to negotiate something else. He stood up. "Thanks. It'll be good to have backup for this."

Henry grabbed one of the blankets from the stack and put it around Neal's shoulders. It was warm in the laundry area, but would be cold once they left the room, and unlike Henry and Peter he wasn't wearing a coat.

Pumped up on adrenaline, an unnaturally elated Neal told them about seeing Bickerton and the subsequent chase, and didn't seem to notice that neither Henry nor Peter said much. It wasn't until they got off the elevator that he started paying attention. "Wait," he said as they turned toward the right. "This isn't my floor."

"We're taking a detour," said Peter.

Soon they were at the entrance of the chapel. Henry looked inside and asked, "Can you give us a minute?"

The only occupants of the room were their grandparents. "Are you all right?" Irene asked as she and Edmund walked toward them.

"Neal's fine," Henry promised.

"And you?" she asked.

"In a hurry."

"I'm going to tell your mother you've been sassing me," Irene warned. Then she and Edmund stepped out into the hallway.

Peter gave Neal a gentle push. "Make it fast." He followed with Henry and closed the door behind them.

"What are –" Neal started to ask.

"That's my shirt," Henry interrupted. "I need it back." He pulled off his coat and bright blue shirt. They were both wearing black sweatpants so only the shirts had to be swapped.

"What –" Neal tried again.

"Move it, Caffrey," Peter said. "Give him your shirt."

Henry hoped Peter's use of Neal's last name would emphasize Peter's role as boss and remind Neal of the need to do his job. Unfortunately he reacted obstinately instead. He dropped the blanket on the floor, and put his hands on his hips. "Forget it. This my case, my meet. I set it up. You're not going to impersonate me and take it over."

"In case you've forgotten, you're still hospitalized," said Peter. "You're not cleared for duty yet, and you've missed a lot of updates on the case."

Seeing Neal was about to protest again, Henry let loose some of his frustration. "Thursday you weren't breathing on your own, and that wasn't even the worst of it. I was there when your heart stopped. So forgive me if I think I'm more suited to working a case tonight." He grabbed the shirt that Neal was still wearing and pulled him forward to get in his face. "Now, kiddo!"

"Take it easy," Peter cautioned.

Henry let go and pulled out a packet of contact lenses.

Neal stared at him a moment, clearly processing the news that he hadn't simply been unconscious during his stay at Jacobi. Finally he yanked off the white t-shirt he'd been wearing and tossed it at Peter, who handed him the blue shirt.

With shirts exchanged and Henry wearing blue contact lenses, Neal said, "Shoes. He may remember I'm not wearing any."

"Got it," Henry said, toeing off his shoes and leaving them on a pew next to his coat.

Peter opened the door, letting Edmund and Irene back inside the chapel. Henry got close and patted his back. "Thanks," he said under his breath to the FBI agent. "He's a lot more reasonable when you're around. I'll meet you upstairs."

###

Still unhappy about being double-teamed, Neal watched that final exchange between Peter and Henry with suspicion. "What was that about?" he asked Peter as Henry walked out.

"Neal, I need you to stay here with your grandparents," Peter said. Then he snapped a cuff around Neal's right wrist.

The fact that he hadn't seen that coming gave Neal pause. Already he was losing his focus. "That isn't necessary," Neal said. But even as he protested, Peter put the other cuff around Irene's left wrist.

Peter turned to the Ambassador. "Please, sir, keep them in here. Henry warned me they're both equally volatile."

"Well, really," said Irene.

"Be careful, Peter," Neal warned. "Henry made off with your gun."

Peter reached for his weapon, came up empty, and ran after Henry.

Irene smiled guilelessly up at Neal. "I haven't had this much fun in ages, but we've reached Edmund's limit. He's going to make us stay here. Sit down with me, dear boy, and tell me all about what Henry and Peter are up to."

Neal sat beside her and eyed her handbag with interest. It might hold what he needed to get free. "Would you like to learn how to get these handcuffs off?"

Edmund pulled the bag out of their reach. "Behave yourselves," he ordered. "Neal, you owe us an explanation of this case we've found ourselves embroiled in. Tell me a story and then I'll decide if you're allowed out of those cuffs."

Irene patted Neal's arm. "Keep in mind he's Irish. He's a sucker for a good story."

Resigned to the fact that he wouldn't be joining Henry, Neal leaned back against the pew. No one could beat a con artist at spinning a yarn. "Well, it starts with a young sailor on a German U-boat filled with priceless treasure at the end of World War II." He yawned, feeling the adrenaline dissipate, and concentrated on making a fascinating story out of the parts the FBI would let him share.

A few minutes into the story, Irene said she was getting chilled and asked Edmund to hand her Henry's coat. She tucked it around both of them, although it seemed to Neal it was mostly over him. She leaned her head against Neal's shoulder, and somehow it seemed natural to lean his head against her. Before he knew it he was sliding into sleep, and wondering if he'd been double-teamed again.

###

Peter got to the room in time to hear Bickerton say, "That's right. I know where Meredith Bennett is hiding, and the name the Marshals gave her. If you don't want me to share that information with your father's enemies, you're going to come with me."

Henry was reaching for the gun he had "borrowed" when Peter made his presence known, announcing that Bickerton was under arrest. Peter held out his hand for the gun and gave Henry the look he remembered receiving from his own father, the calm expectation that his obviously reasonable request would be obeyed. But beneath that façade he hid grave doubts, because at the moment Henry seemed even more reckless and unpredictable than Neal. Peter was considering options for wresting the gun away when Henry finally handed it over.

The fact that Henry looked relieved gave Peter hope. Because it had been a close thing. If Henry had actually held Bickerton at gunpoint, Peter would have had to arrest him, too. Neal would probably be devastated if it came to that.

After the cops arrived and took Bickerton away, Peter studied Henry, who looked uncomfortable under the scrutiny. "What?" Henry asked.

"This isn't you, Henry. You aren't a killer."

"I wanted Bickerton to believe I was. I wanted him to think he was going to die, like Neal almost died."

"You're assuming Bickerton is behind this. What's his motive?"

"Money," said Henry.

"That implies someone is paying him. That makes him a pawn in this game. Neal isn't safe until we get Bickerton to tell us who's calling the shots."

"Bickerton works for Adler."

"He used to work for Adler," Peter corrected. "But if we think Adler wants to use Neal's skills, Adler isn't the one behind this. There's someone else behind the scenes, someone looking for Adler who stumbled across Bickerton and decided to use him. Probably blackmailed him into acting as a go between, on the threat that Bickerton's past association with Adler would be made known to the FBI if he didn't play along. Instead of going off half-cocked, we're going to keep our heads, think things through, and follow the trail back from Bickerton to the real threat. Are you with me on this?"

Henry nodded. "Let's go question Bickerton."

"No. He can stew in lockup for a while. We need to get some rest if we're going to be sharp enough to get the real answers to this case. Let's get Neal out of here."

"Check him out of the hospital?" Henry asked.

"The doctor said he could leave on Saturday. No disrespect to your grandparents, but given how bold our would-be-killer is getting, I want Neal in a more secure location with a guard who can take down the next threat. And who can stop Neal from running into trouble."

"That would be me."

Peter agreed. He thought the best way to keep Henry out of trouble was to keep him busy guarding Neal.